



























































































































































iC 


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SILVERFOOT 


Books kg 

MAUD LINDSAY 

A STORY GARDEN for Little Children 

Illustrated, $1.25 

THE STORY-TELLER for Little Children 

Illustrated in colors, $1.25 

BOBBY AND THE BIG ROAD 

Illustrated in colors, $1.50 


LITTLE 

MISSY 

Illustrated in colors, $1.50 


By MAUD LINDSAY and 


EMILIE POULSSON 

THE JOYOUS TRAVELERS 

Illustrated in colors and black-and-white, $2.00 

THE JOYOUS GUESTS Illustrated in colors, $2.00 






























- 








“Hi, bar, black horse, whut’s yo’ name?’"— Page 34 











by • MAUD • LINDSAY 



Illustrated by Florence. LileyYoung 

• • C f ® • • • 

) } o 
0 4 * 


LOTHROP, LEE X SHEPARD CO. 

DOSTON 















Copyright, 1924 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All rights reserved 
Silverfoot 



Printed in the U. S. A. 

. * 

•fflorwoob ip.vess 

Norwood, Mass. 
©Cl AS08709 

NOV -7 ?4 





To My Old Home 

Uuscumbia, Blabama 

This little book is lovingly dedicated 


I can hear the neighbors now 
Talking across fences about flowers: 

“ My Duchess rose is in full bloom; 

And have you seen my white verbena ? 

You must have a slip-” 

A cheerful gossip, good for childish ears. 



INTRODUCTION 


W HEN I was a little girl I heard many stories of 
the War-between-the-States, which were more 
fascinating to me than fairy tales or legends. 
Nor was their charm lessened by the fact that some of them 
were about people and places that I knew: 

A drop-kneed negro man, whom I saw daily going 
humbly and quietly to his work, had once carried a message 
that had saved the life of a young Southern planter. 

A dear acquaintance was one of the heirs to a lost for¬ 
tune, said to have been buried in the yard of an old South¬ 
ern home. 

A horse—but I must not anticipate my story of Silver- 
foot, which is woven around a true incident and inter¬ 
woven with treasured memories and childish impressions 
still strong and vivid. 

It is the “ long ago ” of which I write, yet my little 

heroines seem close akin to the children who play now in 

7 



8 INTRODUCTION 

the streets of our old Southern towns; and to the children 

everywhere, as for that matter. 

And courtesy, kindness, courage, and faithfulness, each 
of which plays its part in my narrative, belong to no one 
period nor section nor people; which is a pleasant thing to 
think about. 

It is pleasant, too, to know that whenever a horse 
and a small negro boy make acquaintance, a friendship 
between them is as inevitable as it was in the days of 
Rhody’s Jim and Silverfoot. 


Maud Lindsay. 


9 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

“Hi, dar, black horse, whut’s yo’ name?” 

( Page 34) - - - - - Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Up went the hand of the boy she had selected 6G 
Her words ended in a gasp of astonishment - 74 
“ This was your Aunt Kitty’s trunk ” - • 92 

“ ‘Look away! Look away ! Look away! 

Dixie Land ! ’ ” - - - - - - - - 112 

“Did you ever see such a beauty!” - - - 124 

Cousin Gage was waiting on the steps - - - 146 

Jim Led Silverfoot from the garden into the 

orchard - -- -- -- - 196 


9 






SILVERFOOT 


CHAPTER ONE 

E ARLY one morning, long ago, Katherine and Sue 
and Caledonia Carroll sat together in their grand¬ 
mother’s garden. 

If they had looked the wide world over they could hardly 
have found a pleasanter place in which to be. Bluebells 
and hyacinths and jonquils were blooming all about them; 
birds were singing in every tree-top; an absurdly awkward 
young jay-bird, just out of the nest, was trying his wings 
almost at their feet; and a butterfly circled slowly around 
their heads as if it suspected them of being flowers. Yet 
the girls were as sober and downcast as though a desert 
surrounded them. 

They were cousins, of about the same age, who had re¬ 
cently come to visit their grandmother on her big planta- 

11 


12 SILVERFOOT 

tion; and, though this was during the War-between- 
the-States, when every Southern household was unsettled 
and anxious, the girls had been particularly happy at 
Twin Oaks, as the place was called, until now. 

But this morning a gay young uncle at whose heels they 
had followed constantly, and who, in a high-handed, 
patronizing way, had made them his confidantes, was go¬ 
ing to join the Confederate army. He had told them, 
twenty times over, how dreadful it would be for him to 
stay at home when other boys were fighting for the South; 
and how unreasonable it was for any one to say that he 
was too young to go when he was almost seventeen; and 
they had agreed with enthusiasm to all he said. 

But when his knapsack was actually packed, and the 
time when he must leave them was drawing near, their 
hearts had suddenly grown so heavy that they had been 
forced to steal away to the garden to indulge in a little 
private grief. 

It had been very different when their fathers went away 
in the beginning of the war. The streets of the cities 


SILVERFOOT 


13 


where they lived had been crowded with people who 
cheered and sang as the soldiers marched by. And the 
bands had played Dixie. Oh, if there were only a band 
to play for Charlie! and other soldiers to go with him. 
But when one boy went by himself it was terrible. 

“ I know he will be killed,” said Caledonia, bursting 
into tears as she spoke. 

“ How can you say such a thing? ” cried Sue. “ It 
makes me perfectly wild to hear you. I wish Grand¬ 
mother would change her mind, and say he had to stay at 
home. Yes, I do, and Katherine needn’t look so sur¬ 
prised.” 

“ I wish we were all boys and could go, too,” said 
Katherine. “ Then we wouldn’t mind his going one bit.” 

“ I should think not,” said Sue. “ I can see myself in 
a battle right now, waving my sword and calling, ‘ A 
Carroll! A Carroll! ’ And you and Cousin and Charlie 
galloping up to fight with me. And the Yankees retreat¬ 
ing! Oh, don’t you think it would be grand? ” 

“ No, I don’t,” sobbed Caledonia. “ I think it would 


14 SILVERFOOT 

be horrid. I hate swords, and riding so fast would make 

me dizzy.” 

Her cousins looked at her with a kind of amused aston¬ 
ishment. She was so different from themselves. Sue was 
a Carroll out and out, with her auburn hair and pepper-pot 
temper; Katherine had the Carroll self-reliance and high 
spirit; but Caledonia was like her mother’s family. When 
she was nothing but a toddling baby Mammy Selie, the 
black nurse who had helped to bring up all of Grand¬ 
mother’s children, had said: 

“ She ain’t lak us-all; she’s lak dey-all.” And every¬ 
body in the family had agreed with her. 

If Caledonia had been left to herself she would have 
sat in the house sewing quilt-pieces or dressing dolls the 
whole day long, but Katherine and Sue would not hear to 
this. “ Cousin,” as they called her, must go where they 
went and do what they did; and rather than not to 
have her in all their plays and plans, they often modified 
them. 

“We could belong to the infantry instead of the cavalry 


SILVERFOOT 


15 


if you didn’t want to ride,” suggested Sue, rapidly adjust¬ 
ing her imagination to meet the situation on this occasion. 
‘‘ I think to march four abreast would be grand; and you’d 
soon get used to swords.” 

“ I wonder if Charlie will ride Silverfoot,” said Kath¬ 
erine, bringing the conversation back to reality. “ He 
planned to ride him, I know, but last night I heard Aunt 
Virginia begging Grandmother not to let him do it. She 
said she wouldn’t risk him on a two-year-old colt for any¬ 
thing, if she were Grandmother.” 

“ But Silverfoot isn’t like other two-year-old colts. 
He’s ever so much smarter. Uncle Boss says he is, and 
Uncle Boss knows. Besides Charlie can ride any horse! ” 
protested Sue indignantly. 

“ It isn’t because Aunt Virginia doesn’t think Silverfoot 
is fine,” explained Katherine, “ but because of the guns 
and drums and bugles. Of course a young horse would 
be afraid of them.” 

“ Why can’t Charlie go in the infantry like Sue says 
we could? ” asked Caledonia, weeping again at the thought 


16 


SILVERFOOT 


of a new danger. “ Please, Katherine, beg him to change. 
He’ll listen to you.” 

Sue was horrified at the suggestion. Charlie change 
from the cavalry when nobody could ride as well as he 
could! She had said they could march if they were boys, 
but they were not boys. And, anyway, she was just play¬ 
ing. Indeed Charlie would ride Silverfoot! 

She was hotly pouring out her opinions when Charlie 
himself appeared in the garden in search of them. 

“ Girls, girls, where are you? ” he called. “I’ve been 
looking for you everywhere.” 

They hastily wiped their eyes and hid their handker¬ 
chiefs in their pockets, though it was hard not to grow 
tearful again when they saw that he was dressed in his 
grey uniform that had come from town only that morning. 

“ How does it fit? ” he demanded, turning about so that 
they could get a full view of his grandeur. 

“ Beautifully, beautifully! ” they responded in a brave 
chorus; but Charlie eyed them with suspicion. 

“ What are you doing ’way down here? ” he asked. 


SILVERFOOT 


17 


“ Girls are certainly funny. Don’t you know that it is 
almost time for me to go? Why, Isaac was bringing the 
horses ’round when I left the house.” 

“ We were just talking about Silverfoot,” said Kath¬ 
erine, tactfully avoiding his dangerous questions. “You 
are going to ride him, aren’t you? ” 

“ No, I’m not,” said Charlie, flushing as he answered. 
“ He’s just as safe as any horse, I don’t care who says he 
isn’t; but I began to think of wounded horses, and all that, 
and I can’t risk Silverfoot. I’m going to leave him for 
you to take care of, and don’t you let the Yankees get him. 
I’d rather they’d get me.” 

The little girls thrilled with delight. To have Silver¬ 
foot left in their special charge was an honor of which they 
had never dreamed. 

“I’ll fight the Yankees myself before they shall have 
him,” Sue declared. 

The Federal forces had never come to that part of the 
country in which Twin Oaks plantation lay, but there were 
always rumors that they were coming. And it was excit- 


18 


SILVERFOOT 


ing to plan what you would do if they suddenly swooped 
down upon you. The girls often did that. 

“ Where would you hide Silverfoot, Charlie, if you were 
here and the Yankees came? ” asked Katherine, who was 
more practical than Sue, though not one whit less enthu¬ 
siastic. 

Charlie stopped to consider the question before he 
answered. 

“ The mountain would be the best place if you could get 
him there, but you could put him in the haunted cabin 
down in the woods, or in the cave by the creek. You’ll 
have to watch out, though, no matter where you hide him, 
or those sharp-eyed Yankees will find him. My! wouldn’t 
they like to get a horse like Silverfoot! ” 

They had walked through the garden as they talked and 
by this time were in sight of the house. The family and 
house-servants were already assembling on the gallery to 
tell Charlie good-bye, and Isaac, his body-servant, was 
waiting with the horses under the twin oaks, which gave 
the plantation its name. 


SILVERFOOT 


19 


All Grandmother’s daughters-in-law, and grandchil¬ 
dren, with the exception of Katherine’s mother and little 
brothers, who had not yet left the city where her father 
was stationed, were at Twin Oaks. And besides these 
there was what Charlie called “ a sprinkling of cousins ” 
who had come from far and near at the first alarm of war. 
Grandmother always kept open house to her kinsfolk. 

One of these cousins had greatly distressed the little girls 
by insisting that Grandmother would “ give up ” when the 
time came for Charlie to go. They could think of nothing 
worse than that. Everybody depended on Grandmother, 
and if her courage failed, what would they do? 

It had not failed when she had lost her only little girl 
for whom Katherine was named; nor when Grandfather 
Carroll died and left her with boys to raise and a great 
plantation to manage; nor when her older sons went to the 
war. 

\ 

Still, Cousin Betsy Patrick had held to her opinion: 
“ Mark my words, when the time comes for Charlie to go, 
Cousin Lucy will give up.” 


20 


SILVERFOOT 


It was with a great feeling of relief that the little grand¬ 
daughters spied Grandmother standing with the rest of the 
family on the porch, and looking as calm and cheerful as 
usual. 

“ I always did say that Cousin Betsy Patrick did not 
know what Grandmother would do. Why, just to look at 
her makes me brave,” whispered Katherine, as she and her 
cousins followed Charlie up the gallery steps. 

Not all of the waiting group were as composed as 
Grandmother. Katherine saw that Aunt Dora, Cale¬ 
donia’s mother, was tearful, and Aunt Virginia put her 
handkerchief to her eyes when she spied Charlie, but Kath¬ 
erine hoped that he did not notice it. He could not bear 
for people to make a fuss over him. And she did hope 
that Sue and Caledonia would keep the agreement that 
they had made among themselves; not to cry where he 
could see them. She cast an apprehensive glance in their 
direction, and to her great astonishment found that Sue 
was giggling. That seemed worse than crying when 
Charlie was about to leave them. 


SILVERFOOT 


21 


U T>. 


I’m laughing at Isaac,” Sue explained hastily. 
“ He’s so proud of going with Charlie that he can’t to save 
his life keep from smiling; and whenever anybody looks at 
him, he tries to get solemn. Do see how Aunt Calline’s 
frowning at him.” 

Aunt Calline, a large fat black woman with a gloomy 
countenance, was Grandmother’s cook, and Isaac’s mother. 
She was as proud as he that her mistress had chosen him 
to be Charlie’s body-servant, but she was not going to let 
him know it. 

“ You, Isaac,” she called as she held out a package of 
good things that she had brought from the kitchen, “ I’se 
done tole you ’fo’ dis ter solemnize yo’se’f. Hit ain’t no 
time fer rej’icin’. Fetch Mis’ Lucy’s baby back ’yer safe 
an’ soun’, and den laff. You heah me? Teck dis snack 
an’ put hit in de saddle-bag fer Marse Charlie when he’s 
hongry, an’ do des lak Mis’ Lucy tell you.” 

“ Isaac knows the trust we are putting in him, Aunt 
Calline; he will not fail us,” said his mistress. 

“ No, dat I ain’t. Um gwine stay right wid Marse 


23 SILVERFOOT 

Charlie twell I fotch ’im home,” Isaac affirmed gravely, 
but as his glance met his young master’s, his mouth spread 
from ear to ear again. 

4 

“ I’m glad he’s going,” said Katherine. “ Grand¬ 
mother says Isaac will take care of Charlie if anybody 
can.” 

“ I’ll take care of Isaac, too,” said Charlie, catching the 
whispered words; “ and I shouldn’t be surprised if we two 
ended the war. You’d better keep our names in the bis¬ 
cuit pan, Aunt Calline, for there’s no telling when we’ll 
come riding home; and we’ll be hungry sure enough when 
we’ve whipped the Yankees.” 

The negroes laughed delightedly at this. They were 
ready and willing to be pleased with whatever Charlie 
might say, for of all the Carroll brothers, he was the fa¬ 
vorite with the black folk. 

“ Don’ you git married ’fo’ you comes home, Marse 
Charlie,” said Embrey, the dining-room boy, as Charlie 
went the rounds of the servants, shaking hands with every 
one of them. 


SILVERFOOT 


23 


“ I lay he do,” said another negro. “ De gals ain’t 
gwine let ’im git by.” 

“ I’m going fighting, not courting,” said Charlie, and 
set them all laughing again. 

“ Dar ain’t no marryin’-time lak wah-time,” said 
Mammy Selie, giving him a playful push as he reached 
her. Then realizing all at once that he was going into 
danger, she threw her apron over her head and began to 
rock herself to and fro in silent grief. 

“ I can’t keep from crying,” gasped Caledonia, catching 
hold of one of Katherine’s arms. 

“ Neither can I,” said Sue, grasping the other. 

“ Try to think of something else,” whispered Katherine, 
blinking her own eyes to keep the tears back. “ That is 
what Grandmother told me to do when I had my tooth 
pulled, and it certainly did help.” 

“ I can’t think of anything else to think of,” faltered 
Caledonia, but fortunately a diversion came from an un¬ 
expected quarter. 

Charlie had just bidden the cousins good-bye, and was 


24 


SILVERFOOT 


turning toward his doleful little nieces, when a long- 
limbed, wild-eyed negro boy came racing toward the house 
from the direction of the stables, with his arms flapping 
like a turkey-buzzard’s wings. 

“ Marse Charlie, Marse Charlie! ” he called at the top 
of his voice. “ I’se gwine ride Silverfoot ter water ebery 
day twell you gits back, ain’t I? Please, Marse Charlie, 

I * >> 

IS. 

“ Ain’t dat nigger boy got no manners? ” grumbled one 
of the older servants, but Charlie seized the opportunity 
for fun. 

“ Here in the presence of my assembled family,” he pro¬ 
claimed grandiloquently, “ I cross my heart and body and 
declare that Rhody’s Jim, and nobody else, shall ride 
Silverfoot to water till I come home again.” 

The little incident broke into the strain of parting most 
happily, and even Caledonia was cheerful enough to wave 
and nod in answer to Charlie’s last words, called back as 
he rode away. 

“ Don’t you forget what I told you to do, girls.” 


CHAPTER TWO 


N O sooner were horses and riders out of sight than 
Sue beckoned her cousins to follow her from the 
gallery. 

“ I think we ought to go to see Silverfoot right now,” 
she told them when they had reached a corner where they 
might talk undisturbed. “ He’s going to be dreadfully 
lonely without Charlie and we’ll have to stay with him, 
and pet him, and give him sugar just as Charlie has always 
done—please, Cousin, go ask Aunt Calline for a lump— 
and while we are down at the stables we can find out from 
Uncle Boss all about the mountain, who lives there, and 
how to get there, and everything.” 

“ But we mustn’t tell him why we want to know,” said 
Katherine, as she and Sue waited for Caledonia’s errand 

to be done. “ Charlie told us to hide Silverfoot if the 

25 



26 SILVERFOOT 

Yankees came, and we must do it all by ourselves; that is, 

if we can.” 

“ Of course we can,” cried Sue, flaring with indignation 
at the mere suggestion that they might need assistance. 
“ But I’ll tell you what would be nice. Uncle Boss might 
take us to the mountain some day just to see what’s up 
there. Oh, Katherine, do you suppose he would? ” 

But Katherine was of the opinion that it would not be 
wise to make such a request. Uncle Boss was Grand¬ 
mother’s carriage-driver and the power and authority of 

/ 

the Carroll stables. He was not to be trifled with, the 
little girls knew that very well. 

At the time of their proposed visit he was sitting in front 
of the stable doors talking to “ Brer Nor’cross,” the plan¬ 
tation preacher, about Charlie. 

“ He come down hyer bright an’ early dis mawnin’,” he 
was saying as the girls approached, “ an’ des ez soon ez I 
sot eyes on ’im I knowed he wuz bothered. I up an’ axed 
’im plump an’ plain, ‘ Whut ails you, Marse Charlie?’ 
An’ Marse Charlie he say, sezzee, ‘ Dar ain’t nuffin’ ail me, 


SILVERFOOT 27 

but I ain’t gwine ride Silverfut. I can’t let no Yankee 
git a shot at ’im.’ ‘ Tank de Lawd, sumpin’ gwine be 

lef’ us,’ I say. An’ he rid de roan.” 

“ When my ole Marster, an’ Marse Andrew Jackson an’ 
Marse John Coffee fit de Creek Injuns, I wuz right dar,” 
said Brer Nor’cross, musingly. “ An’ I ain’t nebber fer¬ 
got how dem Injuns whooped and yelled. Hit ain’t ter 
be fergot.” 

“ Dar ain’t no Injuns in dis yer wah,” said Uncle Boss, 
whose mind was on the present. “ Des Yankees. Tank 
de Lawd, I say, des lak I tell you, when Marse Charlie 
’lowed he warn’t gwine gib ’em no chance at Silverfut.” 

“ Tank de Lawd, dat’s whut I say when me an’ my old 
Marster rid home safe fum Hoss-Shoe Ben’. I got 
’ligion dat ve’y day, an’ I ain’t nebber los’ hit. I’se gwine 
preach ’ligion des ez long ez I kin talk, an’ when I can’t 
talk no mo’, I’se gwine p’int up’ard,” said Brer Nor’cross, 
lifting a trembling finger toward the sky. 

The little girls had reached the stables by this time but 
they waited in respectful silence till the old man dropped 


28 


SILVERFOOT 


his hand into his lap again. They had been brought up 
from their cradles to have what their black nurses called 
manners. 

It wasn’t manners to interrupt. 

Nor to go “ rip-racing ” round the place bareheaded. 

Nor to forget to say yes, ma’am, and no, ma’am, or yes, 
sir, and no, sir to older people. 

Nor to sit on the floor. 

Nor to whistle. (This was for girls—not boys.) 

And to “ disrespect ” preachers, or old people was more 
than a breach of good manners. It was a sin. 

As soon as she could speak with propriety, though, 
Katherine advanced. 

“ Good morning, Uncle Boss. Good morning, Uncle 
Nor’cross,” she said politely. “ Did the rang-gum-root 
liniment that Grandmother sent you help your rheuma¬ 
tism? ” 

Brer Nor’cross gave a little start at the sound of her 
voice. 

“ I mos’ thought I hyeard my young mistis whut wuz 


SILVERFOOT 


29 


yo’ A’nt Kitty speakin’ ter me den. You sho’ is her spit 
n’ image, chile. Same voice, same look, same smile, same 
age I ’lows ez she wuz w’en I seed ’er las’,” he said, shading 
his eyes with his hand so that he might better see the little 
girl. “ I lay Mis’ Lucy loves you powerful well.” 

“ Not better than she does the others,” said Katherine, 
sensitive for the feelings of her cousins. 

“ Maybe not, maybe not,” agreed the old man catching 
her thought, “ but you sho’ does faver Miss Kitty. De 
ve’y week afo’ she died she come down ter my cabin do’. 
‘ Unk Nor’cross,’ she say, des lak you say hit, ‘ I done come 
ter show you my May-Queen does.’ One week a May 
Queen an’ de nex’ a angel bright, praise de Lawd. But 
she wuz Mis’ Lucy’s only gal.” 

Her resemblance to her little aunt was an old story to 
Katherine, but it never failed to please her. 

“ Grandmother has told me all about Aunt Kitty. She 
thinks I look like her, too. But I know I shall never be 
so good and sweet as she was,” she said, blushing under 
the old man’s admiring gaze. 


30 


SILVERFOOT 


“ You are as good as Aunt Kitty, or any one else,” cried 
Sue, who was always Katherine’s champion. “ Grand¬ 
mother ought to love you best if she doesn’t. And you’ve 
been a May Queen, too.” 

Uncle Boss slapped his knee and chuckled at this out¬ 
burst. 

“ Dar speaks Marse Tom,” he cried. “ She ain’t got 
her pa’s red haid fer miffin’. An’ Marse Tom he tuck atter 
Ole Marse Henery, what wuz de mos’ tempery man dat 
ebber I see. He didn’ mean no harm by hit, dough. 
W’en his temper riz he des tuck ter de woods and tromped 
hit out, yes siree, dat whut he done.” 

He was chuckling again at his recollections when a sus¬ 
picion seized him. 

“ Whut you chillun want down yer? ” he demanded. 
“ I lay youse up ter sumpin’ nur.” 

“We’ve just come to see Silverfoot,” Katherine 
answered soothingly. “ You don’t mind if we do that 
sometimes, do you? ” 

“ I lay I’se got ter stan’ hit,” replied the old man, “ but 


SILVERFOOT 31 

• • 4 ■ * - . 

ef you gits too projeckin’, Um gwine straight ter Mis’ 
Lucy.” 

“ Cousin has brought Silverfoot a lump of sugar,” said 
Sue, pushing Caledonia forward. “ You know Charlie 
loves for him to have sugar.” 

Uncle Boss gave a kind of grumbling assent as he re¬ 
luctantly led the way into the stable. The girls had hoped 
that he would let them go alone but he had no idea of doing 
that, it was plain to see. 

“ Times sho’ is changed,” he complained as he shuffled 
ahead of them. “ No mo’ fox-huntin’ nur barbecues nur 
infa’rs. De gem’mun’s all gone an’ de hosses. Look at 
dese empty stalls. When dey gwine fill up? I ax you 
dat. 

“ Right yer’s whar Marse Dick’s ‘ Dragon ’ stood, dat 
flea-bit grey he bought dp in Tennessee, an’ paid a hatful 
er money fer; dat’s des how he measured hit. Dar warn’t 
no finer hoss in de Valley dan Dragon twell Silverfut was 
bawn. 

“An’ dis yer’s Lady Egmont’s stall; Silverfut’s her 


32 SILVERFOOT 

colt. W’en de wah broke out Mis’ Lucy sent Lady Eg- 
mont ter Miss Emma’s boy, wid her love. Marse Charlie 
an’ Isaac dey’s gone on de roan an’ ole Sleepy-hoss, an’ ef 
Rock an’ Rye warn’ too fat an’ ole ter trabel fur, some- 
body’d be ridin’ dem off ter de wah, an’ Mis’ Lucy 
wouldn’t hab nuffin’ but mules ter pull de kerridge.” 

“ But we’ve still got Silverfoot,” said Katherine. 

“ And, oh, look, he’s poking his head out of his stall to 
see who’s talking about him,” cried Sue. “ Isn’t he the 
smartest thing in the world? ” 

But in spite of the caresses that the girls lavished upon 
him, and the sugar lump which Caledonia hastened to 
offer him, Silverfoot was plainly disappointed in his visi¬ 
tors. Again and again he looked beyond them, and 
stamped on the floor of his stall as if to summon the one 
he wanted to see. 

“ Silverfut am de knowingest critter on dis yer planta¬ 
tion, an’ dat’s de Gospel trufe,” said Uncle Boss, lowering 
his voice as if he were afraid the horse might understand 
what he was saying. “ He ain’t stompin’ an’ gwine on dat 


SILVERFOOT 


33 


way fer miffin’. I lay he knows Marse Charlie’s gone 
dez ez well ez us do. I dunno how we’se gwine satisfy 
’im ’bout hit. 

“ I tole Marse Charlie de ve’y day dis colt wuz bawn 
dat hit warn’ no common colt. ‘ Heap er folkses gwine 
want dis yer colt,’ I say. An’ lawsy, lawsy, hit warn’ no 
time twell fust one an’ den anur wuz beggin’ Marse 
Charlie ter sell ’im. But us-all don’ sell our hosses nur 
niggers. 

“ Ain’t a white ha’r on ’im ’cep’n’ his one white 
forefut,” he continued, describing the horse to the girls 
just as if they were hearing of him for the first time. “ De 
day he wuz bawn I say ter Marse Charlie, ‘ Marse Charlie, 
I lay you gwine call dis colt Whitefut;’ but w’en Mis’ 
Lucy and de ladies come down hyer ter see ’im, Mis’ Lucy 
she ’lowed hit mus’ be name’ Silverfut, an’ dat’s been hits 
name ebery sence. Us allers does hev high-soun’in’ names 
fer our hosses.” 

“ Silverfut kin show you whut his name is,” said Rhody’s 
Jim, appearing suddenly from the darkness of a near-by 


34 


SILVERFOOT 


stall, where he had evidently been resting from the exer¬ 
tions of the morning. “ Wanter see me mek ’im? ” 

Without waiting for an answer he darted into Silver- 
foot’s stall, and, before Uncle Boss knew what he was 
about, was leading the colt out. 

“ Don’ you be skeered. He’s gwine stan’ still,” he as¬ 
sured his audience; and with his next breath admonished 
Silverfoot: 

“ Don’ you go ter kickin’ up yo’ heels, an’ skeerin’ no¬ 
body. Youhyearme! Whoa! 

“ Now den de folkses kin see you,” he said, and stepping 
back from his pet, he snapped his fingers Joudly and 
called: 

“ Hi, dar, black hoss, whut’s yo’ name? ” 

Up came the white forefoot, much to the delight of the 
girls who had not seen this accomplishment before. 

“ Oh, Jim, what else can he do? ” they cried. 

“ He kin answer when I whistles ter ’im,” said Jim, 
fairly bursting with pride. “ You des lissen hyer.” 

He backed out of Silverfoot’s sight and puckering up 


SILVERFOOT 


35 


his lips he whistled, three low notes, one long and two 
short, that were not unlike a thrush’s call. Instantly the 
horse lifted its head and nickered joyfully. 

“ Dat’s mine and Marse Charlie’s whistle, but us-all 
ain’t nebber tole hit ter nobody,” said Jim, reaching out 
his hand and giving Silverfoot an affectionate slap. 

“ Um aimin’ ter learn dis yer hoss sumpin’ else ’fo’ 
Marse Charlie gits back,” he added casting a sly glance at 
Uncle Boss. 

The old man who had been divided between disapproval 
and pride during Jim’s exhibition of the colt, evidently 
thought it was high time to assert himself. 

“ Ef I catches you playin’ yo’ monkey-shines wid Marse 
Charlie’s hoss Um gwine run you clean out dis stable, 
nigger boy,” he threatened. “ Ain’t I done tole you dat 
dis hoss warn’ no trick hoss. Hit’s a quality hoss. Dar 
ain’t anur colt dis side er Nashville lak Silverfut.” 

Jim, who was accustomed to Uncle Boss’s way, bore this 
outburst good-naturedly. 

“ Come on, Silverfut,” he said. “ I reckon us-all’s got 


36 


SILVERFOOT 


ter git back in de stall. An’ don’ you be r’arin’ ’roun 
none. Come ’long.” 

With Jim out of the way Uncle Boss turned his atten¬ 
tion to the girls again. 

“ I ’spects Mis’ Lucy’s lookin’ fer you little gals,” he 
remarked pointedly. 

“We are going right now,” said Katherine hastily, “ but 
we wanted to ask you something, Uncle Boss. How far is 
it to the mountain? ” 

“A fur piece, an’ no good road nurther. Mis’ Lucy 
ain’t thinkin’ ’bout dribin’ up dar, is she? ” Uncle Boss in¬ 
quired anxiously. 

“ Oh, no,” said Katherine. “ I was just thinking—• 
that is we wanted-” 

“ I ain’t gwine teck you,” interrupted Uncle Boss with 
determination in his voice. “ Hit’s all Rock and Rye kin 
hole out ter do to pull Mis’ Lucy an’ de folkses ter church 
an’ town, an’ I ain’t gwine resk ’em on no mount’in 
road.” 

“ Why, Uncle Boss, we wouldn’t ask you to go to the 



SILVERFOOT 


37 


mountain,” Katherine hastened to assure him. “ We just 
wanted to know about it. Who lives up there? ” 

Uncle Boss sniffed contemptuously. Every one outside 
the charmed circle of the Southern planters, and their kins¬ 
folk, were “ po’ white folks,” to him. 

“ Dey’s de onlakliest, laziest, po’, no-’count folks dat 
ebber I see, an’ I ain’t gwine tell you nuffin’ ’bout ’em,” 
he said pursing out his lips. 

“ But they could take care of a horse, couldn’t they? ” 
inquired Sue with more haste than judgment. The old 
man was all ears at once. 

“ Whut’s dat?” he asked. “ Teck keer er a hoss! 
Whose hoss? ” 

Katherine looked reproachfully at Sue. At this rate 
the whole matter of hiding Silver foot would be taken out 
of their hands before they even had the fun of planning 
for it. And as if it were not enough to have aroused 
Uncle Boss’s suspicion, who should appear on the scene 
again but Jim, very wide-awake and curious. 

“ I knows de way ter de mount’in. Hit ain’t no fur 


38 


SILVERFOOT 


piece. I could ride Silverfut dar an’ back ’fo’ de supper- 
horn blow. Ef youse fixin’ ter sen’ up dar, lemme go, 
Miss Kate,” he begged. 

Katherine drew herself up with a little air of dignity 
that made her look older than her eleven years. 

“ I don’t think Grandmother intends to send any one to 
the mountain,” she said, turning to go as she spoke, “ but 
I’m sure she can tell me about the people who live up there 
and I shall ask her as soon as I go in the house.” 

But her dignity and independent words did not deceive 
Uncle Boss. “ De Lawd only knows whut dem chillun’s 
aimin’ ter do,” he declared as he joined Brer Nor’cross out 
in the sunshine. 

“ Ef He knows He’ll fix hit all right. I ain’t nebber 
see Him fail,” said Brer Nor’cross with his serene smile. 

“ Sholy, sholy, but I figgers out He mought want me 
ter go tell Mis’ Lucy,” said Uncle Boss, as he watched the 
retreat of his visitors. 


CHAPTER THREE 


I T was not until the next day that the girls had an 
opportunity to question Grandmother, and then they 
had a hard time in getting the information that they 
wanted about mountain people without disclosing their 
plans. 

Grandmother told them much that was interesting. 
There were no better friends to be found anywhere than 
the mountaineers when they were your friends, she said; 
and, though they had lived too far away from towns and 
settlements to have much schooling, they only needed an 
opportunity to learn as fast as anybody. Grandfather 
Carroll had thought very highly of some of them, and 
Grandfather Carroll was a good judge of people. Al¬ 
ways believe that every man is a gentleman until he has 
proven himself not to be one, that was Grandfather’s 
motto. 

The little girls were thoroughly convinced that the 

39 


40 


SILVERFOOT 


mountain people would take good care of Silver foot if 
only they could get into communication with them. But 
how to do this was a puzzle. 

“Do you ever go up there, Grandmother?” Sue in¬ 
quired. 

“ No, not now; it is too far for me,” said Grandmother, 
“ but once, years ago, I went there with Grandfather, and 
I saw a girl and boy who had never been off the mountain.” 

“ But some of the people do come down sometimes, don’t 
they? ” asked Katherine so anxiously that Grandmother 
who did not guess what lay behind this anxiety had to 
laugh a little as she answered: 

“ Oh, yes, the men come now and then with their ox- 
wagons to buy what they need in town, or to sell pine; and 
once in a while, in the summer, the women bring huckle¬ 
berries down. Keep your eyes open and you may see 
some of them on the road.” 

“ Let’s go up in the Buff Room and look out of the 
windows right now,” proposed Sue. “ One of the moun¬ 
taineers might be going by this very minute.” 


SILVERFOOT 


41 


The bedrooms in Grandmother’s house were known by 
the colors in which they were furnished. There was a 
Blue Room, a Green Room, a Buff Room, and so on. 
They were the prettiest rooms imaginable to the girls. The 
delicately-tinted furniture was decorated with flower or 
fruit designs. The wall-papers pictured delightful 
scenes: castles and lakes and fine ladies and gentlemen 
strolling about under sunshades. The carpets were as 
soft as moss; and in each room there was a marble clock 
with a statue of some kind on top of it. A gardener with 
his spade stood on the Blue Room clock and, on the one in 
the Buff Room, sat a melancholy little boy with a book in 
his hand. 

The girls were partial to the Buff Room, first because, 
as brighter hues were usually chosen for their dresses and 
sashes and hair ribbons, they thought buff a very uncom¬ 
mon and desirable color; and next, because they could see 
the public, or “ Big Road,” as it was called, from its win¬ 
dows. 

The Buff Room was the “ company room,” and was 


42 


SILVERFOOT 


always kept in readiness for visitors who might come to 
spend the night; but when it was unoccupied by guests the 
girls liked to sit there with their knitting or sewing. It 
was such a good place in which to imagine things, Sue 
said. 

“ We can play it is a watch-tower,” she suggested as 
they hurried up the stairs on this occasion, “ and I think it 
would be splendid if we took turns in looking out of the 
window all day long. Then we’d be obliged to see the 
mountaineers if they passed.” 

But after half an hour’s fruitless watching, she was 
ready to abandon this plan. 

“ I don’t believe they are coming by to-day,” she an¬ 
nounced, “ and I’ve thought of something else that we 
ought to do. The mountaineers might not be willing to 
take Silverfoot, or the Yankees might come before we 
could get him up to the mountain, and I think we ought to 
go to the Haunted Cabin.” 

“ Not by ourselves! ” exclaimed Caledonia aghast at the 
thought. 


SILVERFOOT 


43 


“ Why not? ” demanded Sue, with her usual scorn of 
fear. “ I don’t need anybody to go with me.” 

“We could take Little Fannie, though,” said Kath¬ 
erine. “ She knows the way better than we do, and we’ll 
have ever so much more fun if she goes with us.” 

“Little Fannie” was a tall, likely negro girl whose 
diminutive title had been given her only because her 
mother was Fannie, too. The girls delighted in her com¬ 
pany, and Sue agreed at once to Katherine’s proposition. 
The only difficulty was that Little Fannie was so popular 
with the younger children of the family that it was not 
always easy to claim her. When the girls went to ask her 
to accompany them she was dancing and singing before 
Caledonia’s baby brother. 

Mammy Selie, in whose lap the baby sat, did not ap¬ 
prove of this performance. She thought it was a sin to 
dance, and often warned the girls against even crossing 
their feet. 

But the baby laughed with delight as Little Fannie 
shuffled and sang: 


44 


SILVERFOOT 


“ In a cotton petticoat, 

An’ a linsey gown, 

Shoes and stockin’s in her han’, 

Feet upon de groun’.” 

“ Fow’er,” he called, holding out his arms to her, and 
twisting his little rosy mouth in the effort to say the name 
he had made for her himself. “ Fow’er! Fow’er!” 

“ I lay he thinks I’se a sweet-bud,” said Little Fannie 
giggling. “ ’Caze dat’s de only brown flower dat I knows.” 

The girls beckoned her aside with an air of mystery. 

“We are going to the Haunted Cabin, and we want you 
to go with us,” whispered Sue. 

“ Dar ain’ no use gvvine down dar in de daytime,” said 
Little Fannie. “ You won’t hyear nuffin’. Hit’s long 
’bout de middle er de night dat de ha’nt rattles hits 
bones.” 

“ Oh, Little Fannie, did you ever hear it?” cried Sue 
who delighted in all the superstitions and ghost-tales of the 
negroes. 

“ No, I ain’t,” said Little Fannie, “ but my mammy is.” 


SILVERFOOT 45 

She waited a moment as if to see what effect this state¬ 
ment would have on her hearers, and then asked inno¬ 
cently : 

“You reckon Miss Lucy’ll let us-all go down dar at 
night? ” 

“ We don’t want to go at night,” answered Katherine 
with severity. “We want to go now. We’ve a good rea¬ 
son, one that we can’t tell, but if Grandmother knew it 
she’d be glad to have us go.” 

“ Well, den,” said Little Fannie rolling her eyes till 
nothing but the whites of them were visible, “ dar’s three 
ways ter go. Dar’s de way down de holler whar de 
wilecats lib. An’ de path Ole Marse Henery made when 
he rampage up and down walkin’ his temper off; sum do 
say he walk dar yit. An’ dar’s Snake Road—which one 
you gwine take? ” 

It was hard to make a choice. 

“ Why do they call it Snake Road? ” Katherine asked. 
“ Are there any snakes there? ” 

“ Sum say cley call hit dat ’caze hit twis’ an’ tu’n so 


46 


SILVERFOOT 


much; an’ sum say dat a snake cross hit ebery day, des "bout 
dis time an’ leabes his track in de dus\ I dunno,” said 

Little Fannie; “ but I don’ lak nuffin’ ’bout snakes my- 

_ >> 

se i. 

“ I don’t, either,” Caledonia hastened to say. “ Please 
don’t let’s go by the road.” 

“ De way down de holler’s de shortest ef you ain’t 
skeered er wilecats,” volunteered Little Fannie. “An’ 
dar ain’ been none seed down dar fer a good w’ile. But 
you ought er hyeard Unk Pearl whut’s daid an’ gone tell 
’bout de time de wilecat mos’ got ’im. 

“ He wuz des gwine on home not botherin’ nuffin’ nur 
nobody, ridin’ his mule, when he hyeard sumpin’ rustlin’ 
roun’. An’ Unk Pearl he holler out, ‘ Who dar? ’ Nuffin’ 
answer. De rustlin’-roun’ go on des de same, dough, an’ 
Unk Pearl ’gun ter feel moughty oneasy. He ain’t let on 
he’s skeered, dough. 4 Come on, Sam, let’s go git ’em,’ he 
say, dough dar warn’ no Sam dar, but his ole mule named 
dat. 

“ Rustlin’ roun’, rustlin’ roun’, dat’s all de soun’ Unk 


SILVERFOOT 


47 


Pearl hyeard twell his heart go plump, an’ dar right on a 
lim’ ober his haid he seed a wilecat, lickin’ his lips and 
fixin’ fer ter spring. 

“ Ef it hadn’ er been dat ole Sam-mule tuck an’ lit out 
fru de woods lak a streak er light’in’, an’ Unk Pearl hedn’t 
er stuck on lak a cuckle-burr, I ’spec’ dat wilecat woulder 
% sho’ got de ole man.” 

“ Oh, don’t let us go through the hollow,” begged Cale¬ 
donia, clinging to Sue. 

“ All right, then,” said Katherine, who had begun to be 
ashamed of her indecision. “ We’ll go by the path. 
There’s nothing to frighten you there, Cousin.” 

“ Nuffin’, lessen we sees ole Marse Henery’s ha’nt,” said 
Little Fannie cheerfully. “ But ef us do run up on hit, I 
’low hit won’t bother us. Y’all’s blood-kin, and ingen’lly 
ha’nts don’ do nuffin’ ter dere kinfolks. An’ us-all kin pick 
some vi’lets down dar fer Mis’ Lucy ter put by Miss 
Kitty’s pictur.” 

She started off briskly and the girls trailed behind her 
with varied feelings. Katherine was still ashamed of hav- 


48 


SILVERFOOT 


ing paid so much attention to what she knew was mostly 
nonsense; Sue, who wanted to believe that every word 
Little Fannie said was true, felt an awesome pleasure in 
the possibilities of their adventure; while Caledonia, torn 
between doubt and dread, was low in spirit. 

But Little Fannie soon turned their thoughts to more 

cheerful subjects than wildcats and snakes and haunts. 

/ 

“Look dar! Look dar! ” she cried presently. u Dar go 
Brer Rabbit. Don’ you see ’im? An’ dar go Big Jake’s 
yaller dawg. Run, Brer Rabbit, run! ” 

“ Where? Where? ” asked Sue and Katherine in a 
breath. 

“ Oh, don’t let him get the rabbit,” implored Caledonia. 

“ Don’ you be skeered; dat yaller dawg ain’t gwine ter 
git nuffin’. Brer Rabbit’s done beat ’im holler,” said 
Little Fannie contemptuously; “but I lay dat rabbit’s 
moughty glad dat Isaac’s done gone ter teck keer er Marse 
Charlie at de wah. Isaac sho’ could ketch rabbits.” 

She stopped suddenly and peered into a near-by thicket. 

“ Is dat Mister Blue-Jay mekin’ all dat fuss in dar? ” 


SILVERFOOT 


49 


she asked. “ No, ’tain’t. Hit’s Mister Sassy Mockin’- 
Bird des ez sho’ ez I is bawn, mekin’ out he ain’t hisse’f, an’ 
can’t do no better dan dat outdacious jay-bird. He ain’t 
foolin’ nobody, dough. Didn’ I hyear ’im las’ night 
settin’ up in de top er de tree splittin’ his th’oat a-singin’, 
an’ keepin’ eberybody wake ter lissen ter ’im? Ef us-all 
warn’ in sech a hullaboo ter go ter de Ha’nted Cabin I lay 
I could show you whar his nes’ is. But I ain’t gwine 
show you no nestes widout you promise you won’t tech de 
aigs. 

“ I lay I kin tell y’all sumpin’ you don’ know, nurther,” 
she continued. “ Ef you puts yo’ han’ in a guinea-hen’s 
nes’ she gwine leab hit. You gotter teck de aigs out’n hit 
wid a spoon ef you want ’er ter keep on layin,’ an’ dat’s de 
Gospel trufe.” 

“ Little Fannie,” said Sue at the first pause in this flow 
of talk, “ why do you call rabbits and bears and foxes 
‘ Brother,’ and the birds, 4 Mister ’? ” 

“ My Mammy calls ’em dat, an’ dat’s whut Unk Pearl 
call ’em, an’ Gran’mammy she call ’em dat, too,” answered 


50 


SILVERFOOT 


Little Fannie, who was somewhat abashed by the necessity 
of explanations. She rallied quickly, though. 

“ I lay de b’ars an’ rabbits is kinder kin ter us-all, an’ de 
birds is mo’ lak comp’ny folks,” she said, giggling at her 
own fancy. 

“ Right hyer’s whar Ole Marse Henery’s path is,” she 
announced a moment later; “ des lak he mek hit, ’caze dat 
whut Unk Pearl say. Ebery time de niggers let de colts 
out, er Marse John Coffee got de bes’ er ’im in dere 
argifyin’, er Ole Mis’ tare de place up fixin’ fer a ball, Ole 
Marse Henery’d light out fer de woods an’ walk his tem¬ 
per off. 

“ One time he come hyer in de winter time widout his 
hat, an’ Ole Mis’ tole Unk Pearl ter fetch hit ter ’im ’caze 
he gwine ketch his deff er cold. 

“ Unk Pearl he didn’ want ter do dat. No, siree! ‘ Ole 
Mis’,’ he say, ‘ I lay Marse Henery’s gwine sen’ me plum’ 
back ter Afriky ef I goes down dar wid dis yer hat.’ 

“ But Ole Mis’ she laff fit ter kill at dat. ‘ I ain’ gwine 
let ’im sen’ you nowhar,’ she say. ‘ Youse my nigger.’ 


SILVERFOOT 


51 


“ Unk Pearl tuck de hat an’ come down ’yer but he didn’ 
come close. He des stood ’hine de bushes an’ nebber said 
nuffin’. Byme-by hyer come Ole Marse Henery trompin’ 
up and down. He done run his han’ fru his ha’r twell 
hit’s stan’in’ up lak sage-grass all ober his haid, an’ he’s 
talkin’ ter hisse’f moughty mad. But ebery now an’ den he 
look up en de trees lak he’s watchin’ sumpin’ nur. 

“ Unk Pearl he watch, too, an’ byme-by he seed a liT 
squirrel gwine frum tree to tree, lippity-lip, lak hit’s mos’ 
’stracted. 

“ Ebery whicherway Marse Henery aim ter go, dat 
squirrel wuz dar ’fo’ he wuz. An’ hit ain’ mo’n dar ’fo’ 
hit’s back agin. Ef Marse Henery stop ter res’ hisse’f, 
de squirrel he stop. Ef Marse Henery start agin, de 
squirrel he start, lippity-lip. Ef Marse Henery slow 
down, de squirrel he slow down. 

“ Unk Pearl he ’lowed hit war a sight ter see; Marse 
Henery on de path an’ de squirrel en de trees gwine on 
dat way. Hyer dey come, an’ dar dey go twell Marse 
Henery drap hisse’f down on a log an’ bus’ out laffin’. 


52 SILVERFOOT 

“ Unk Pearl he holler right den: 

“ ‘ Marse Henery, yer’s yo’ hat Ole Mis’ sont you ; 5 an’ 
Ole Marse Henery answer moughty perlite, ‘ Thanky, 
Pearl/ ” 

“ I wish I had been there,” said Sue regretfully. “ I 
think it was splendid to do—I mean walking off his tem¬ 
per. I believe I’ll do that when I get mad. Mammy 
Selie says I take after him. Only I’m afraid I won’t stay 
mad long enough to get down here.” 

“ Do you know any more stories about Grandpa Henry, 
Little Fannie? ” inquired Katherine. “ I do love to hear 
them.” 

“ I know ’bout de time he run dat trader dat axed ’im 
whut he’ll teck fer Gran’mammy clean down de big road; 
an’ I knows ’bout de time Marse Lem’l Peyton kick his 
dawg; an’ ’bout de time he broke Unk Pearl’s fiddle ’caze 
hit squeaked, an’ brung ’im a bran’ new one frum up ter 
Nashville; but I ain’ gwine tell no mo 5 . We’se gotter be 
gwine whar we’se gwine ef we is gwine. Miss Lucy’ll be 
axin’ whar I is.” 


SILVERFOOT 


53 


“ But I thought we were going to pick violets; that’s 
what I want to do,” said Caledonia, hoping against hope 
that Katherine and Sue might be turned from their dread¬ 
ful purpose of visiting a haunted house. But they were 
not to be diverted. 

“ Come on, come on! ” they cried, catching hold of her 
hands and laughing. “We won’t let anything get you.” 

The cabin was at no great distance and they soon stood 
before it with mingled curiosity and awe. In appearance 
at least it satisfied their wildest expectations. The chim¬ 
ney was tumbling down, the roof partially caved in, and 
the windows boarded up; while a dead tree, which grew 
so close to the house that its branches touched the wall, 
gave the final touch to the desolation of the scene. 

“ It looks as if it would be the best kind of hiding- 
place,” said Katherine hurrying toward the door. 

She had her hand on the latch, and was just about to 
lift it, when a noise inside the house attracted her atten¬ 
tion ; an ominous “ rustlin’ roun’.” The others heard it, 
too; and Little Fannie called out quickly: 


54 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Don’ you go in dar, Miss Kate. Dat mought be a 
snake we hyear.” 

All of them hastily moved to a safe distance from the 
door and looked at each other doubtfully, but Little 
Fannie was the most alarmed. 

“ I ’spects us-all better go on home,” she said. “ Miss 
Lucy don’ want you gals ter be gwine in no ha’nted house.” 

“ Oh, don’t let’s go home,” entreated Sue. “ Let’s look 
through the cracks first. “ It can’t hurt us to do that.” 

“No, and I should think Grandmother would like to 
know what is in there,” said Katherine, who hated to leave 
as much as Sue did. 

Little Fannie agreed that there was no objection to 
looking through cracks. 

“ But don’ you be op’nin’ no do’, Miss Kate,” she in¬ 
sisted. 

“ And we mustn’t make one bit of noise,” cautioned 
Katherine as they hurried to select their posts of observa¬ 
tion. 

A warning was hardly needed, every one was so im- 


SILVERFOOT 55 

pressed by the silence of the cabin itself; and not another 
word was spoken till Sue whispered excitedly: 

“ I see something white in a pile of leaves. Do you 
suppose it could be the ha’nt? ” 

“ Of course it couldn’t,” said Katherine. “ You know 
that there aren’t any real ha’nts. Besides I see what you 
are talking about, and it’s a cat. I do believe it’s Grand¬ 
mother’s old white cat that we thought was dead.” 

“Is it? ” cried Caledonia, who had not by any means 
relished the investigation of the cabin. “ Then I’m going 
right in and get her. I’m not afraid of cats; they always 
like me.” 

She pushed the door open and went into the cabin with¬ 
out waiting for the others, and when they followed her, 
she was already down on her knees by the heap of dry 
leaves which the winds of the last winter had blown 
through the cracks, fondling what, at first glance, seemed 
to be little balls of soft grey fur; while the old white cat 
rubbed against her skirts, purring proudly. 

“ Kittens,” announced Caledonia, with rapture in her 


56 


SILVERFOOT 


voice. “ One for each of us, and Little Fannie, too. I’m 
going to take them home with me.” 

“ And we can call them the Confederate kittens because 
they are all grey, don’t you see? ” cried Sue. 

“ All right,” agreed Caledonia, bundling the whole cat 
family into her apron, “ you can name them, but I’m going 
to have the littlest one for mine.” 

Such a mild climax to their adventure was not just what 
her cousins had hoped for, but on the whole they were 
satisfied. 

“ It has been fun,” said Sue, as she and Katherine and 
Little Fannie walked home behind happy Caledonia and 
her cats. “ And the Haunted Cabin is grand! If I could 
only find out what it is that rattles its bones down there 
I’d be perfectly happy.” 

Yet when, not long after this, some one discovered that 
the “ ha’nt ” was nothing but the branches of the old dead 
tree rattling against the house in the wind, Sue was truly 
disappointed. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


S UE and Katherine and Caledonia got on so well to¬ 
gether during the first weeks of their stay at Twin 
Oaks that their relatives marveled at it. Aunt 
Bessie, Sue’s mother, said openly that such amiability was 
too good to last; and one of the older cousins was always 
pretending that she could see wings sprouting from their 
shoulders. 

The great affection that the girls felt for each other had 
much to do with this pleasant state of affairs, but novelty 
played its part, too. Katherine and Sue, whose homes 
were in a distant city, had not been to the plantation for 
several years, and though Caledonia was a frequent visitor 
there, everything seemed different to her after her lively 
cousins came. 

She had never so much as heard of the Haunted Cabin 

nor the Cave until then; and as for girls making plans for 

57 


58 


SILVERFOOT 


themselves and carrying them out, she would not have 
thought it possible until Sue and Katherine dragged her 
into all their fascinating projects. 

So, what with getting acquainted with each other, and 
the black folk, and exploring the place, and visiting Silver- 
foot, and talking about the Yankees, there was no time to 
quarrel. 

Then one morning all three of them got out of bed the 
wrong way; or at least that is what Aunt Virginia said 
they must have done, when they were cross at the breakfast 
table. They had heard this explanation of ill-humor ever 
since they could remember, but they did not enjoy having 
it applied to themselves. As soon as they could, they left 
the table and went to the nursery where, sad to tell, they 
entered into a serious disagreement over the baby cousins, 
of whom there were several. Sue began it. She had no 
brothers and sisters and so she must claim a baby, she 
said. 

“ I shall have little Harry because he is the prettiest 
and smartest,” she declared after looking at each one with 


SILVERFOOT 


59 


a critical eye. “ And I’m going to rock him to sleep 
every single night.” 

“ I don’t think he is any prettier or smarter than my 
baby brother, do you, Katherine? ” asked Caledonia in the 
little aggrieved tone that she always used when her feelings 
were ruffled. 

“ All the babies are just as sweet and pretty as they can 
be,” said Katherine; “ but it doesn’t seem fair for Sue to 
get Harry to sleep every night. I haven’t any brothers 
here, even if I have some at home, and I think I ought to 
have Harry half the time.” 

Sue’s face flamed and she blazed out first at one and 
then at the other: 

“You know your baby hasn’t curly hair like little 
Harry’s, so how can he be as pretty? Everybody says 
curly-haired babies are the prettiest.” This to Caledonia. 
“I’m going to ask Aunt Virginia if I can’t claim 
little Harry forever, and ever. And if she says I can, it 
will be fair no matter who thinks it isn’t. So there, Miss 
Katherine.” 


60 


SILVERFOOT 


Mammy Selie swooped down upon them just then and 
sent them out of the nursery in short order. 

“ I ain’ gwine ter hab no argifyin’ an’ ’sputation roun’ 
my baby chillun,” she said as she shut the door behind 
them. 

“ I don’t care,” said Sue. “ I’m going to the Cave, any¬ 
way. I planned it yesterday, and you-all ought to go, 
too. Cousin never has been there and just suppose that 
the Yankees came and she was the only one who could 
slip out of the house to hide Silverfoot, and the Cave was 
the only place she could take him, and she didn’t know how 
to get there.” 

“ But if I could slip out of the house, I don’t see why you 
and Katherine couldn’t slip out, too,” said Caledonia. 
“ I wish you wouldn’t suppose about me at all.” 

“Baby!” cried Sue scornfully. 

“ Never mind her, Cousin,” said Katherine in her most 
high and mighty manner. “I’m going up to the Buff 
Room to watch for the mountain people, and you can go 
with me.” 


SILVERFOOT 


61 


“ But I don’t want to look out of windows all the time, 
I want to sew on my quilt,” wailed Caledonia. “ Mammy 
Selie says girls never get married till they have made a 
quilt.” 

At any other time Sue and Katherine would have seen 
the funny side of this, but just then they were entirely too 
cross to be amused. 

“ Charlie wants us to hide Silverfoot on the mountain, 
but you needn’t help about it, nor Sue, either,” said Kath¬ 
erine, stalking away with her head in the air. 

“ And I can go to the Cave without you, Miss Biggity, 
or you, Miss Cry-baby,” snapped Sue, taking herself off 
like a small whirlwind. 

It seemed to Caledonia, left alone in the hall, as if all 
the life had suddenly gone out of the house. Even when 
she went into her mother’s room and took out the beloved 
quilt-pieces she found little comfort or pleasure in them. 
It was no fun to sew unless the girls were running in and 
out begging her to stop. 

Meanwhile Katherine in the Buff Room, watching for 


62 


SILVERFOOT 


the mountaineers, was just as unhappy as Caledonia. She 
kept her eyes conscientiously on the road, but all her 
thoughts were of Sue. 

She ought not to have gone to the Cave alone. Grand¬ 
mother wouldn’t like it a bit, but Katherine didn’t care. 
No, indeed. 

Why in the world did Sue want to go to the Cave? 
There was nothing to do down there. It wasn’t a real 
cave, anyway, only a shelter under a big rock by the creek 
bank. 

The creek was dreadfully deep. Charlie would have 
drowned in it once if Isaac hadn’t jumped in and brought 
him out. 

And Sue was down there by herself. “ I’ll just have 
to go and see what she is doing,” said Katherine, getting 
up hurriedly and speaking her thoughts aloud. 

Her eyes were suddenly misty with tears, and as she 
went out of the door she bumped into her cousins, who, 
coming from different directions, were as astonished to 
meet her and each other as she was to see them. 


SILVERFOOT 


63 


“ I’ll watch with you if you want me to,” sobbed Cale¬ 
donia. 

“ I was just starting to the Cave to find Sue,” explained 
Katherine. 

“ How nice,” said Sue who apparently was in the gayest 
and happiest of moods; “ but I haven’t been to the Cave. 
I’ve been to the orchard, and I’ve the grandest plan! 
You know the big June-apple tree by the fence? Well, if 
we climb up there we can look right down on the road. 
It’s ever so much better for a watch-tower than the Buff 
Room. And there are three fine places to sit. One way 
up high for Katherine or me, and one on a splendid rockity 
limb not quite so high, and a lovely safe place in the fork of 
the tree for Cousin. She can take her quilt-pieces and sew 
there just as easy as not. And the apples are ripe. I ate 
two to find out if they were, and then ran back to get you.” 

The very next minute they were on their way to the 
orchard laughing and talking as if they had never had a 
disagreement. 

The seats in the apple-tree were just as satisfactory as 


64 SILVERFOOT 

Sue had described them to be, and the girls had settled 
themselves to enjoy the apples, when far down the Big 
Road they spied something moving toward them. 

“ It looks to me like a drove of cows,” said Sue, who 
had mounted to the highest seat in the new watch-tower. 

“ Or a crowd of people,” said Katherine. “ Ever so 
many. I wonder why they are coming this way.” 

“ Let’s get down and go in the house,” proposed Cale¬ 
donia. 

“ Well, I’m not going,” said Sue. “ I’m not afraid of 
cows nor people, either.” 

“ They are soldiers,” cried Katherine. “ I can hear 
them marching, can’t you? ” 

The even tramp, tramp, tramp of many feet on the road 
was clearly heard by now, but the soldiers were not near 
enough for the girls to distinguish the color of their uni¬ 
forms; and the color of the uniforms was so important. 

“ Suppose they are Yankees,” Sue suggested to Kath¬ 
erine, scarcely framing the words with her lips for fear of 
alarming Caledonia. 


SILVERFOOT 


65 


“ They may be,” answered Katherine in the same cau¬ 
tious way; “ but they could be our soldiers.” 

“ Are they Yankees? ” asked Caledonia, who had been 
thinking for herself during this by-play of her cousins. 
“ Are they? ” 

“ I don’t know,” Katherine answered slowly as she 
watched the approaching column with anxious eyes, “ but 
I believe, I’m almost sure that they are our men.” 

“ Yes! Yes! ” shouted Sue. “ I can see their grey uni¬ 
forms. And they are going to march right by us. Do 
stand up, Cousin, so you can see better. Our boys, just 
dozens and dozens and dozens of them. Hurrah! ” 

“ I wish we had flags to wave as they go by,” said Kath¬ 
erine. “ Have you got a handkerchief, Sue? ” 

“No, no, I’ve left mine in the house, but I know what 
we can do,” Sue cried excitedly. “We can wave some of 
Cousin’s quilt-squares. They’ll make perfectly splendid 
flags. And Cousin won’t mind, not when it’s for our sol¬ 
diers.” 

“No, indeed!” said Caledonia, handing out her gay 


66 


SILVERFOOT 


pieces generously. “ I’d give them to our soldiers if they 
wanted them.” 

So when the long grey line came marching by, it was 
greeted with a fine display of purple, and green, and tur¬ 
key-red patchwork; and banners of silk could not have 
served the purpose better. 

The regiment, as it happened, was one largely composed 
of recruits, young sons of Southern planters who had left 
their preparatory schools to join the army. 

“ They are not any older than Charlie,” whispered 
Katherine, as she looked down into their laughing, boyish 
faces. 

“ There’s one that looks just like him,” cried Sue. 
“ Oh, Katherine, I’m going to give him a June-apple.” 

Catching hold of a bough to steady herself, she leaned 
forward calling, “ If you like June-apples hold up your 
hand and I’ll give you one.” 

Up went the hand of the boy she had selected, and up 
went the hand of every other boy within the sound of her 


voice. 


Up went the hand of the boy she had selected.— Page 66. 





















. 










SILVERFOOT 


67 


“ Why, they all want them,” gasped Sue. “ Oh, Kath¬ 
erine, get some quick and give them to me. And Cousin, 
too. I need another and another and another. Hurry! 
Hurry! ” 

Katherine and Caledonia threw themselves into the work 
of gathering apples with the greatest zest. They stood 
tiptoe on rocking limbs, climbed into precarious places, 
that at any other moment would have made Caledonia sick 
with terror, and fairly snatched the fruit from the 
branches. But the demand grew steadily. 

Not all the boys got apples by any means, but all of 
them caught the fun of the situation and never a one went 
marching by without an uplifted hand. Somebody began 
a teasing chant which hundreds of voices soon took up: 

“ Who likes June-apples? 

I do! I do! 

Who likes June-apples? 

I do, too.” 

Even after the last of the singers had vanished around 
the curve of the road the girls heard them keeping time to 
the tramp of their feet with: 


68 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Who likes June-apples? 

I do! I do!” 

It was an exhausted trio that climbed down from the 
apple-tree when the regiment had passed, but an elated 
one. 

“ Just think what we would have missed if we had gone 
to the Cave,” said Sue, as she flung herself down on the 
grass to rest. “ I’m almost glad we quarreled, aren’t 
you? ” 

“ Well, I’m glad we made up,” amended Katherine. 
“We never would have come here if it hadn’t been for 


making up.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


C ALEDONIA was the first to see people from the 
mountain and she was not even watching for them. 
It was the merest accident that she went into the 
Buff Boom that morning, and her thoughts were far away 
from the plans to hide Silverfoot, when she glanced out of 
a window and spied an ox-wagon in the road, not moving 
but standing still, close by the orchard fence! She stood 
still herself in pure amazement at the sight for more than 
a minute before she called her cousins. 

“An ox-wagon! Where? Where?” cried Sue rush¬ 
ing into the room and almost throwing herself out of the 
window in her anxiety to see. 

“ Why, there’s a woman in it! You didn’t say a word 
about a woman, Cousin. Oh, Katherine, do you suppose 

she really and truly comes from the mountain? ” 

69 


70 


SILVERFOOT 


“ I’m almost sure that she does, but we must find out 
right now,” answered Katherine, hurrying from the room 
as she spoke. 

Sue and Caledonia rushed after her, and altogether they 
made such a noise as they went down the stairs that Sue’s 
mother came into the hall below to remonstrate with them. 

“ What if you disturbed Grandmother? ” she asked re¬ 
proachfully. “ Do try to be little ladies, and, if you are 
going out of doors, put on your sunbonnets.” 

Even when she had gone again into the parlor where she 
was entertaining company, the girls could hear her deplor¬ 
ing their behavior. 

“ They are simply running wild; and ruining their com¬ 
plexions besides,” she said. 

“ Well, of course, we have to go and get our bonnets,” 
mourned Sue; “ but I’d rather have my face full of freckles 
than to miss the mountain people. I know they will leave 
before we get to the orchard.” 

But when, properly guarded from the sun, they reached 
the orchard fence and looked over it, the oxen and wagon 


SILVERFOOT 


71 


were still in the road, and in the wagon sat a quiet little 
woman whose face was completely hidden by a black slat 
sunbonnet. 

A moment of embarrassment followed. In their haste 
and excitement the girls had not thought how they should 
make the acquaintance of the stranger, but Sue and Cale¬ 
donia looked hopefully at Katherine. She would know 
what to say. 

“ I’m waiting for her to look up,” whispered Katherine, 
who realized she was expected to begin the conversation. 
“ Maybe she’ll speak first.” 

But though they waited until the silence was almost 
more than they could endure, the small person in the 
wagon neither moved nor spoke. So far as the girls could 
judge, she had no idea that they were near. 

The girls, themselves, were as still as mice, till obeying 
a sign from Sue they slipped down from the fence on which 
they had climbed, and stood in the orchard giggling softly. 

“ Why didn’t you call her, Katherine? ” asked Sue. 
“ I thought every minute that you would.” 


72 


SILVERFOOT 


“ I don’t know her name,” said Katherine. “ And it 
isn’t polite to say, ‘ Hi, there,’ or 4 Look here ’ like rude 
boys. You know it isn’t.” 

“We all might sneeze,” suggested Sue. “ I know how 
we can do it. If you say ‘ hish,’ and Cousin says ‘ hash ’ 
and I say ‘ hush,’ all at the same time, it will sound like a 
tremendous sneeze. She will be obliged to look up then.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t think that is very polite,” objected 
Katherine. “ How would you like to be sneezed at over 
a fence? ” 

“Couldn’t you just say, ‘Please, ma’am’?” asked 
Caledonia. “ I always say ‘ please, ma’am ’ first when I 
want anything.” 

“ Why, of course,” said Katherine. “ That’s the very 
thing. I’ll say, ‘ If you please, ma’am, I’d like to speak 
to you,’ and then the rest will be easy.” 

So up they went again, their blue and pink and lilac 
sunbonnets bobbing over the fence like so many morning- 
glories. 

“ If you please, ma’am, we’d like 


” began Katherine 



SILVERFOOT 


73 


in her most dignified manner, but her words ended in a 
gasp of astonishment as the figure in the wagon turned, 
pushed back the sombre sunbonnet and revealed the face 
of a rosy-cheeked girl who looked not a day older than the 
cousins themselves. 

“ Why,” cried Sue, “ we thought you were a grown-up 
lady and you are nothing but a little girl.” 

“ When I first seen them little bonnets of yourn pokin’ 
over the fence, I thought you-uns were babies,” said the 
ox-wagon girl with never a smile. 

“We are the Carroll girls,” said Katherine. “ I am 
Katherine and these are my cousins, Sue and Caledonia. 
We’d like to know your name, too, if you don’t mind tell¬ 
ing us.” 

“ Hit’s ’Bama,” said the little girl shortly. “ Same as 
the State. Ma wanted to name me Tamar after her ma 
but Pa had his head set on ’Bama. It hain’t no gal’s 
name. Ma says it hain’t.” 

“ But Alabama is a beautiful name,” said Katherine; 
“ and girls are often named for States. One of our aunts 


74 


SILVERFOOT 


is named for Virginia, and this cousin is named for a 
country.” 1 

She laid her hand on Caledonia’s shoulder, and ’Bama 
looked at the little girl with interest. 

“ I think she’s ra’al pretty,” she said with open admira¬ 
tion. “ I wisht I could make my hair curl like hern.” 

Caledonia flushed to her ears at the unexpected com¬ 
pliment. 

“ I think you are pretty, too,” she responded in her soft 
gentle voice. 

’Bama was a pretty little girl in spite of the fact that 
her hair was rolled in a knot at the back of her head, and 
her cotton dress made in a fashion that an old woman 
might have worn. The girls liked her from the very mo¬ 
ment that she pushed back her sunbonnet and looked up at 
them. She had such clear wide-open eyes. 

If only she lived on the mountain she would be the very 
one to take care of Silverfoot, Katherine thought; and all 
doubts on this question were soon settled by ’Bama her¬ 
self. 

1 Scotland was once called Caledonia, 



Her words ended in a gasp of astonishment.— Page 73. 













SILVERFOOT 


75 


“ The wagon chain broke jes’ as we come in sight of 
here, and Pa’s tuck it back to the blacksmith’s shop at the 
turn of the road. Me and him’s been travelin’ from the 
mountain since sun-up and hain’t got to town yet,” she 
told them. 

“We were just hoping that you were from the moun¬ 
tain,” said Katherine. “ That’s the reason we came and 
looked over the fence at you. We have a very, very great 
favor to ask you.” 

“ It’s about Silverfoot,” interrupted Sue, whose tongue 
was suffering from its unwonted quiet. “ Silverfoot is 
Charlie’s horse, and Charlie’s gone to the War.” 

“ He’s our uncle,” explained Katherine, “ but he isn’t 
very much older than we are. We love him dearly and 
we are so afraid that he will get hurt.” 

“ I know,” said ’Bama nodding her head gravely. 
“ Bud’s gone, too, and me an’ Ma an’ Pa feel that-a-way.” 

“ Oh, then you will help us, I’m sure! ” cried Sue. “ We 
want you to keep Silverfoot for us. Couldn’t you find a 
good place to hide him? ” 


76 


SILVERFOOT 


“ I reckon I could,” said ’Bama. “ Thar ain’t no 
Yankee could find a hoss in Shattuck’s Cove.” 

“We would pay you, of course,” said Katherine; but 
’Bama shook her head. 

“ Me an’ Ma an’ Pa wouldn’t think to take nothin’ for 
keepin’ him,” she said in her soft drawling voice. “ He 
won’t eat no corn to hurt. When do you-uns aim to bring 
him? ” 

“ We don’t know that,” answered Katherine. “ It 
might be to-morrow, or the next day, or it might not be for 
the longest time. Just when we hear that the Yankees are 
coming. How do you get to Shattuck’s Cove? ” 

“ Jes’ foiler the road to the mountain-top and turn to 
yo’ left till you get to Milk Springs, then go that-a-way 
till you come to three pines. The path dips right down to 
the Cove from thar. I’ll be on the lookout and Ma’ll be 
mighty proud to see you-uns.” 

“ But I’m afraid we can’t come ourselves,” said Kath¬ 
erine regretfully. “ Grandmother wouldn’t let us go so 
far. And anyway none of us could ride Silverfoot. He 


SILVERFOOT 


77 


wouldn’t let a girl ride him, Uncle Boss says. Nobody 
but Charlie has ever ridden him except Jim, and Jim 
rides him bareback. I expect we’ll have to send Jim to 
the mountain with him.” 

“ But we’ll write a letter and sign it with three marks 
like this,” said Sue, drawing a wobbly circle in the air. 
“ One for Katherine, one for Cousin, and one for me. 
And you mustn’t let anybody get Silverfoot from you 
unless some one comes with another letter signed the very 
same way. And you mustn’t tell anybody but your 
mother and father where you are going to hide him, no 
matter who asks you.” 

“ I reckon I don’ hev to tell nobodv nothin’ less’n I 
want to,” drawled ’Bama. 

She was every bit as pleased and interested as the girls 
were, but it was hard for her to show her feelings or to put 
her thoughts into words. Little by little, however, her 
tongue loosened, and she talked of her home in the Cove 
where she and her father and mother lived, far away from 
any neighbors; and of the cows she milked; and of Bud, 


78 


SILVERFOOT 


who was as strong as an ox and as brave as Andrew Jack- 
son. 

She and her father were driving in the ox-wagon fifteen 
miles to the nearest town in hopes of getting news from 
Bud that day. 

“ Ma’s right puny. Jes’ frettin’ herself sick for Bud,” 
said ’Bama; “ an’ Pa aims to get a letter writ to tell him 
to come home for a spell. Seems-like if Ma could see him 
jes’ oncet in a while she’d be better satisfied. I can print 
some. A woman at the Crossroads learned me, but we 
aim to get some-uns else to write a letter this time. 
Seems-like it might get thar surer.” 

“ Oh, ’Bama,” cried Katherine, her eyes fairly spar¬ 
kling, “ I can write as plainly as a grown lady. Mother 
says I can. Don’t you want me to write the letter? If 
you’d tell me what to say, I’d love to do it. I’ll run right 
now and get some paper and a pencil, and don’t you 
go till I get back.” 

When Katherine returned, she found an addition to the 
company, ’Bama’s father, a lank, tall mountaineer, who 


SILVERFOOT 79 

stood chewing a straw while Sue informed him of all their 
plans, including Katherine’s offer to write the letter. 

“ I have the paper and pencil,” said Katherine, scram¬ 
bling up on the fence beside her cousins, “ but I think I’d 
better come outside to write. There is a loose plank in 
the fence and I’m sure I can get through. That is, if you 
really want me to write the letter,” she added shyly. 

“ I reckon you kin do it as wa’al as anybody,” said Mr. 
Shattuck, shifting the straw from one side of his mouth to 
the other; and, accepting this admission as consent, 
Katherine made her way through the fence. She was 
soon seated on a stone by the roadside, her paper 
spread on a book which she had brought for the purpose, 
her pencil in hand, and her eyes fixed on ’Bama and her 
father. 

“ What shall I say first? ” she asked. 

The mountaineer thought over this question for what 
seemed to the girls a very long time, but at last he came 
to a decision. 

“ I reckon you’d better say ‘ Dear Bud ’ first.” 


80 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Dear Bud,” wrote Katherine with great care. 

“ Then you might tell him that the weather hain’t been 
much to brag on.” 

“ ‘ The weather hasn’t been much to brag on.’ Will that 
do? ” Katherine asked anxiously. She hated to change 
words, but how to spell “ hain’t ” was beyond her knowl¬ 
edge. 

Mr. Shattuck shifted the straw again and nodded. 

“ But tell him that the sorghum’s doing fine,” he added 
after due deliberation. “ I reckon he’ll be proud to hear 
that.” 

“I’m sure he will,” agreed Katherine making haste to 
write down the good news. “ And then what? ” 

“ Wa’al I reckon you’d better tell him ’bout Ma next. 
She’s po’ly,” said the mountaineer in a new and graver 
tone. “ She don’t hanker after vittles none. An’ she’s 
fell off, thin as a rail. An’ tell him to fix some way so as 
he kin come home to see her. Colonel Jim’ll lay him off 
for a spell when he hears about Ma. An’ tell him to make 
haste, an’—wa’al I reckon that’s all.” 


SILVERFOOT 81 

“ But you hain’t told him about oY Moll’s new calf,” 
said ’Bama. 

“ And you haven’t sent your love,” said Sue. “ Every¬ 
body sends love in a letter.” 

“ Aren’t you going to say something about ’Bama? ” 
asked Caledonia. 

“ Pa ” was plainly embarrassed at these suggestions, but 
after shifting the straw again, and wiping his face with the 
end of a red cotton handkerchief which he wore around his 
neck, he addressed himself to Katherine. 

“ Little gal,” he said, “ you jes’ go ahead an’ put down 
anything you want to, ’bout the calf or anything else 
you’ve a mind to tell. I ain’t raisin’ no objections.” 

With this generous permission the letter-writing pro¬ 
gressed rapidly, and except for questions regarding the 
color of the new calf, and Mr. Shattuck’s given name, 
which Katherine herself asked, nothing more was said till 
the letter was finished. 

Katherine insisted on reading it aloud. “ Then if you 
don’t like it, I’ll write it over,” she earnestly assured them. 


82 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Dear Bud: 

“ The weather hasn’t been much to brag on, but the 
sorghum is doing fine. I know you’ll be proud of that. 

“ Ma isn’t well and hasn’t been eating much. She is 
thin as a rail and we want you to come to see her. Ask 
Colonel Jim to let you. 

“ ’Bama wants to tell you that old Moll has a new calf. 
It is red. 

“ We all send love, and will look for you soon. Tell 
Colonel Jim about Ma’s being sick. 

“ Your loving father, 

“ Bill Shattuck.” 


Katherine had been somewhat in doubt as to whether 
she should say father or pa, but her choice evidently im¬ 
pressed Mr. Shattuck deeply. 

“ ‘ Your loving father, Bill Shattuck,’ ” he repeated, 
moved for once to speak promptly. “ Lawyer Stinson 
couldn’t ’er done no better than that. An’ jes’ as natchel 
as failin’ off a log. I wisht Ma could hear hit. She’d be 
plum’ proud.” 

Katherine herself felt no little pride as she folded the 
letter, put it into an envelope and copied Bud’s address 


SILVERFOOT 


83 


from a slip of paper which his father produced after much 
search from his pocket. 

“ Less’n they be fightin’ I reckon Colonel Jim won’t 
hold him back; not after he hears about Ma,” said the 
mountaineer. It was very evident that he had the greatest 
confidence in Bud’s Commanding Officer; and as he 
cracked his long whip above the heads of his patient oxen 
to start them townward, he said again, “ Colonel Jim 
won’t hold him back.” 

The wagon moved slowly on, its wheels creaking loudly 
at every turn, and ’Bama retired into her sunbonnet again. 
She did not respond to the girls as they waved and called 
good-bye, but nevertheless, they stood watching till she 
was out of sight. 

Then they looked at each other as if they were waking 
from a dream. 

“ I think it is almost the nicest thing that’s ever 
happened to us,” said Caledonia. 

“ So do I,” said Sue. “ And now let the Yankees come 
on if they want to! ” 


CHAPTER SIX 


N OT long after the happy meeting with ’Bama the 
girls had another experience which, though not 
so cheering as that had been, gave them much to 
think about. 

They had taken their knitting (everybody was knitting 
for the soldiers then) to the garden one afternoon, and had 
just established themselves under a big mimosa-tree for a 
long, pleasant talk when Little Fannie summoned them to 
the house. 

“ Mis’ Lucy say you mek hase, too,” she called 
from the gate, for she had not taken the trouble to come 
farther. 

“ Well, I think she might tell us why Grandmother 
wants us,” complained Sue, who was unfolding one of her 
most wonderful plans to her cousins, and hated to be in¬ 
terrupted. 


84 


SILVERFOOT 


85 


“ Maybe a letter has come,” suggested Caledonia. 
“ Wouldn’t that be nice? ” 

Letters were great events in their lives. To hear from 
their fathers and Charlie, or from Katherine’s mother was 
the next best thing to seeing them. And, besides, Charlie’s 
letters were such fun. In his last he had told how he and 
Isaac had caught a ’possum for the General’s supper, and 
what the General had said about it. 

Still the news that came was not always good. Only 
the week before Mrs. Baxter, one of Grandmother’s neigh¬ 
bors, had received a letter telling of the death of her son. 

« 

“ Oh, suppose something dreadful has happened! ” said 
Sue suddenly remembering this; and they all began to 
run. 

When they reached the house, however, they found the 
family, that is the older members of it, talking busily in 
the hall, while in the dining-room sat a tattered stranger 
whom Embrey was serving with as much ceremony as if he 
were a king. 

“ One of our men,” explained Sue’s mother. “ He’s in 


86 


SILVERFOOT 


rags and we want to make him some shirts out of your 
aprons.” 

“We can easily get two out of them,” said Aunt Vir¬ 
ginia, critically eying the long-sleeved high-necked brown 
linen aprons that the girls wore to keep their dresses clean 
when they were at play. “ Make haste and take them off, 
children.” 

The girls soberly unbuttoned the aprons and handed 
them over to the volunteer seamstresses, who measured, 
cut, and stitched as if life and death depended upon their 
work. Caledonia’s apron as the best of the three, fur¬ 
nished the fronts of the shirts, the backs were cut from 
Katherine’s, while the sleeves and collars were managed 
out of Sue’s, which was decidedly the worst for wear. 

In what seemed an incredibly short time the soldier went 
on his way arrayed in a brand-new shirt, and carrying 
another in his knapsack. 

“Well,” said Sue as she and her cousins stood on the 
gallery to watch him, “ our aprons have gone to the War. 
Isn’t it grand? ” 


SILVERFOOT 


87 


“ But why didn’t they make the shirts out of new cloth? 
They’ll have to make us new aprons, won’t they? We 
haven’t any other good ones,” said Caledonia. 

Katherine shook her head. “ I don’t believe we shall 
have any new aprons,” she said soberly. “ We can’t have 
anything new. I heard Grandmother talking about it to 
Aunt Virginia just now. The Yankees are all around 
the South, and they won’t let anything in for us; shoes or 
clothes or soap. Grandmother called it a blockade.” 

“ Oh, Katherine,” said Sue. “ Do you suppose when 
our shoes wear out they will let us go barefooted? ” 

This was the first real taste that the girls had had of the 
hardships of war, but it was not the last by any means. 
Twin Oaks plantation, and the surrounding country had 
not suffered in comparison to other homes in other sections 
of the South. Still Grandmother and her neighbors had 
given and given till their chicken-yards, and smoke-houses, 
and corn-cribs and pantries were almost empty, and it was 
easier to empty them than to fill them again. And the 
blockade lasted. Soon there was no lump of sugar for 


88 


SILVERFOOT 


Silverfoot, nor any for Grandmother and the other grown 
people to put in their coffee. By and by there was no 
coffee. Cornbread and cornfield peas took the place of 
Aunt Calline’s usual dainties, and the children learned to 
drink sassafras tea with “ long sweetening,” as the negroes 
called sorghum. 

It was wonderful to see how many devices Grandmother 
and the other Valley ladies thought of to meet their needs. 

Old vests, some of them dating back to Grandpa 
Henry’s time, furnished the cloth for the uppers of shoes, 
the soles of which were sometimes made of coonskin; bits 
of parched sweet potatoes and okra were used as a substi¬ 
tute for coffee; and when the young ladies wanted new 
hats they learned to plait and sew wheat-straw or corn- 
shucks into becoming shapes. 

The little girls made hats, too. Caledonia was a born 
milliner. Her hat had just the right width of brim and 
height of crown, and she even made a satin rose out of a 
scrap of Grandmother’s wedding dress to trim it with. 

Katherine worked steadily and soon finished a hat, which 


SILVERFOOT 89 

if it was not the most beautiful in the world, was neat and 
serviceable. When she had wound an old Roman sash 
around it it was nice enough to wear to church or any¬ 
where, Grandmother said. 

But poor Sue’s fingers were all thumbs when it came to 
hat making. The straw grew stubborn the moment she 
touched it, and the plaits that she made had what she called 
a “ lumpy look.” A dozen times a day she decided that 
she would rather go bareheaded than to plait horrid straw, 
but just as many times she began her work over. 

At last she retired to the attic and worked alone. She 
would not even show what she did to Katherine and Cale¬ 
donia, though they went half-way up the stairs every day 
and entreated her to let them help her. No, indeed, if she 
couldn’t make a hat by herself she wouldn’t have one; but 
she’d make it. Just let them wait and see, she said. 

Caledonia was almost moved to tears by this constant 
refusal. “ I can’t bear to think of her staying up there all 
by herself,” she mourned. “ And I don’t believe she will 
ever make a hat.” 


90 


SILVERFOOT 


She was sincerely surprised and so was Katherine when 
one day Sue appeared with a creation that looked more 
like George Washington’s cocked hat than anything else 
it is true, but which, with a gay rosette of red and white 
pinned on one side, suited its wearer exactly. 

Pretty hats were easier to get than pretty clothes in 
those days. Trunks and garrets were ransacked for gar¬ 
ments which might be made over, and when these were 
exhausted, dresses made of cotton cloth woven on the 
plantations and called “ homespun ” came into fashion. 

The ladies of Twin Oaks, determined to keep the little 
girls daintily dressed as long as possible, darned and 
patched continually; but the girls grew so fast! Aunt 
Bessie declared that she would have to put a brick on 
Sue’s head to keep her down. 

“ I do believe that she is taller every morning than she 
was when she went to bed the night before,” she told Aunt 
Virginia and Aunt Dora at one of their many conferences 
on the important question of clothing the children prop¬ 
erly. 


SILVERFOOT 


91 


“ If we could keep them all in bed more it would be 
better for their clothes,” said Aunt Virginia, holding up a 
threadbare garment of Katherine’s. “ They are never 
still for five minutes in a day.” 

“ And they do such dangerous things,” cried .Aunt 
Dora. “ Only the other day Caledonia tore one of her 
dresses climbing a tree. If she had not told me herself I 
would not have believed it; and I grow heartsick every 
time I think how easily she might have fallen.” 

“ Don’t worry about Caledonia, let her climb,” said 
Grandmother, who had come into the room during this con¬ 
versation; “ and as for the children’s clothes, we shall man¬ 
age.” 

“ But how? ” asked Aunt Dora plaintively. “ I don’t 
mean to doubt your word, Grandmother, and you do man¬ 
age wonderfully; but I must confess that I have come to 
my wits’ end.” 

Grandmother only smiled as she passed on, but later in 
the day she called the girls into her room and showed them 
a little trunk filled with fine dainty garments over which 


92 


SILVERFOOT 


dried rose-petals and lemon-geranium leaves were scat¬ 
tered. 

“ This was your Aunt Kitty’s trunk,” she said; “ and 
these are her clothes that I packed away when she died. I 
thought then that I should never be willing to part with 
them, but it was a foolish thought. They, have been use¬ 
less long enough, and now I am going to give them to you.” 

“ Oh, Grandmother! ” cried the girls all speaking at the 
same time. And then Katherine laid her hand on her 
grandmother’s. 

“ Don’t do it if it makes you sad,” she said. “ Sue and 
Cousin and I don’t mind one bit if our dresses are short 
and worn-out. We’d rather you’d keep Aunt Kitty’s 
clothes.” 

But Grandmother was cheerfully determined to have 
her own way. 

“ It will not make me sad now,” she said. “ You are 
my own dear little granddaughters and I want you to have 
the clothes. We can alter them to fit you, I am sure. 
Sue is taller than Aunt Kitty, but tucks can be taken out 










































































SILVERFOOT 93 

and hems let down, and for Katherine and Caledonia the 
dresses will be just about the right size.” 

At first the girls stood awed and silent while Grand¬ 
mother lifted the old-fashioned dresses of muslin and dim¬ 
ity from their resting-place, but by and by they lost their 

awe in their interest in the pretty frocks. 

« 

One was of white muslin with tiny sprigs of flowers on 
it. Caledonia thought it was the prettiest dress she had 
ever seen. 

“ Then you may have it,” said Grandmother. “ Aunt 
Kitty always called it her Flyaway dress because just as 
it was finished a great puff of wind came along and blew 
• it off the table, where it was lying, and out of the window 
into one of the twin oaks. Sue’s father had to climb the 
tree to get it.” 

“ How interesting! ” said Sue. “ And what about this 
green-striped muslin? I like it ever so much the best. 
Did anything ever happen to it? ” 

“ Your Great-Uncle Charles, the one for whom Charlie 
is named, brought that muslin, and another that was as 


94 


SILVERFOOT 


pink as our crepe-myrtle, from New Orleans. One was 
intended for your Aunt Kitty and one for Cousin Gage, 
and both the little girls liked the pink one better. Uncle 
Charles let them draw straws for first choice and Aunt 
Kitty got it.” 

- 

“ Then why didn’t she take the pink muslin? ” exclaimed 
Sue. 

“ I asked her that very question,” said Grandmother; 
“and she said that she didn’t take it because she loved her 
Cousin Gage so much.” 

Sue was a little abashed when she heard this, but pres¬ 
ently she whispered to Katherine, “ You may have the 
green-striped muslin if you want it.” 

Katherine, however, liked a delicate blue dimity best of 
all. It had puffed sleeves and ruffles edged with dainty 
lace. 

“ I shall always remember how hard I worked over that 
dress,” said Grandmother. “ I never had made one before 
and I was as determined to put every stitch in it myself 
as Sue was to make her hat. I started it early one Mon- 


SILVERFOOT 


95 


day morning and when Saturday night came it was not 
finished. Kitty and Mammy Selie and all of the boys sat 
up that night to watch the clock for me so I wouldn’t work 
into Sunday. It was exciting, I can tell you. At half¬ 
past eleven I still had two buttonholes to make and two 
buttons to sew on. At fifteen minutes to twelve I had 
made one buttonhole and sewed on the buttons, and at one 
minute to twelve I put the last stitch in the last button¬ 
hole. Kitty wore the dress to church that Sunday morn¬ 
ing; and the very next week she had her picture taken in 
it.” 

“ Oh, did she?” exclaimed Sue; and all three of the 
girls ran to look at a daguerreotype in a quaint fine case 
that always stood, opened wide, on Grandmother’s table. 

They had seen the picture of the sweet-faced, serene¬ 
eyed little aunt many times before, but now that Grand¬ 
mother had shown them her clothes they had an entirely 
different feeling toward her, and fresh interest in whatever 
concerned her. 

“ If Katherine wears the blue dress, she will look just 


96 


SILVERFOOT 


like the daguerreotype, won’t she, Grandmother? ” asked 
Sue. 

“ Very much indeed,” said Grandmother; “ and she shall 
have the sash that you see in the picture, and the very same 
slippers, if she can wear them. 

“ There are ribbons for Sue and Caledonia, too,” she 
added quickly, “ and a fan and lace mitts. Aunt Kitty 
would want her little nieces to have everything of hers if 
she could only know.” 

“ Thank you, Grandmother,” said each little girl 
solemnly. They felt very tenderly toward her, and each 
other just then. And on their way down-stairs to tell the 
rest of the family what Grandmother had done and said, 
they lingered to talk about Aunt Kitty. 

“ Don’t you know that she and Cousin Gage had fun 
together? ” said Sue. “ I wish I could have played with 
them.” 

“ But if you h&d, you would be too old to play with 
Katherine and me now,” said Caledonia in a hurt tone. 

“ Couldn’t you have been little then as well as I could? ” 


S1LVERF00T 


97 


demanded Sue. “ Of course I meant you-all, too; you 
know I did. And it would have been nice for all of us to 
play with Cousin Gage and Aunt Kitty. But I’ve 
thought of something just as nice. Let’s get Cousin Gage 
to tell us what she and Aunt Kitty used to do; and then 
maybe we can do the very same things.” 

“ And I think we ought to be just as good to Grand¬ 
mother as we can be,” said Katherine, putting her arms 
around her cousins as she spoke; “ ’specially when we’re 
wearing Aunt Kitty’s dresses.” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


W E are just like the Swiss Family Robinson,” 
Sue declared as her mother and aunts length¬ 
ened, or shortened, or re-fashioned Aunt 
Kitty’s dresses, as the need might be. “We don’t know 
what we are going to eat, nor wear, and then all at once 
somebody makes a discovery, or thinks up something to do, 
and everything’s all right. I think it’s fun to live inside a 
blockade.” 

But she changed her mind when little Harry had a fever 
and there was no medicine of the right kind for him. The 
old family doctor said he would give a thousand dollars for 
as much quinine as he could hold on the blade of his pocket- 
knife, but there was no quinine to be bought. Every¬ 
body, even Grandmother, began to look troubled. A 
blockade seemed dreadful then. 

“ Maybe our soldiers will break through,” said Sue 

hopefully. “ Wouldn’t it be grand if Uncle Henry came 

98 


SILVERFOOT 


99 


galloping up with plenty of quinine in his saddle-bags, 
just in time to save his own child’s life? ” 

It would have been a welcome sight if Uncle Henry 
had come galloping up, whether he brought quinine or 
not; but he was far away. He did not even know that 
little Harry was sick. It began to grow very hard to be 
hopeful. 

The older people were all occupied with the sick child; 
Little Fannie and Mammy Selie devoted themselves to 
the other babies; the whole house was kept as quiet as 
possible; and nobody paid any attention to the anxious 
little girls; or so it seemed to them. 

They wandered from the porch to the garden, and from 
the garden back to the house, asking everybody who would 
stop to talk to them “ How is Harry? ” or “ What shall 
we do? ” without getting any satisfaction. 

One morning when the news from the sick-room had 
been discouraging, and they were especially sad and lonely, 
they went to the kitchen hoping that Aunt Calline would 
let them shell the peas for dinner. But the peas were 


100 


SILVERFOOT 


already in the pot, and Aunt Calline was in her gloomiest 
mood. 

The girls gathered from her muttered remarks that she 
laid the blame for the little boy’s illness on a bunch of 
peacock-feathers that his mother, Aunt Virginia, had put 
on the parlor mantel. 

“ Don’ nebber put peacock-fedders in a house less’n 
youse fixin’ fer trubble,” she said as she stirred a concoc¬ 
tion that she called “ Hopping Johnny ” with a long- 
handled spoon. “ Soon ez I seed Mis’ Jinny stickin’ dem 
fedders in dat glass vase, an’ gwine on ’bout how pretty 
dey is, I ’lowed ter myself dey wuz gwine bring deff, or 
sumpin’ nur, an’ de baby tuck down wid de fever de ve’y 
next day.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Calline,” remonstrated Katherine, “ pea¬ 
cock-feathers couldn’t give little Harry the fever.” 

“ Huccome dey can’t?” asked Aunt Calline. “Ain’t 
dey in de parler and ain’t he sick? An’ dat ain’ all. De 
day ole Marse Henery what wuz yo’ gran’pa’s pa tuck sick 
an’ died dey tell me peacock-fedders wuz brung in de 


*'0 c 


SILVERFOOT 


101 


house; an’ Miss Gage hed a bunch of ’em in a silver pitcher 
w’en she got word dat her ma hed done fell an’ broke her 
hip.” 

“ Law’, A’nt Calline, hit sho’ is ’stressin’ ter hyear you 
talk,” said Candace, one of Grandmother’s maids, who had 
come into the kitchen on an errand. 

\ 

Aunt Calline, who was not displeased with this appre¬ 
ciation of her conversation, shook her head dismally. “ An’ 
dat ain’ all,” she said again; but the girls had heard all that 
they could bear. They left Candace to listen to the rest 
and escaped into the fresh air and sunshine of the back¬ 
yard. 

“ I don’t believe a word that Aunt Calline says about 
peacock-feathers,” Katherine declared immediately. 

“ But Harry did get sick almost as soon as Aunt Vir¬ 
ginia put them in the vase,” said Sue; “ and it was strange 
about Grandpa Henry and Cousin Gage’s mother.” 

Caledonia suddenly began to cry over an accumulation 
of woes: Little Harry was so sick. They hadn’t heard 
from their fathers or Charlie for the longest time. Aunt 


102 


SILVERFOOT 


Calline told such dreadful things. Oh, why had Aunt 
Virginia put the feathers in the parlor? 

“ Let’s take them out,” said Sue looking at Katherine. 
“ Even if we don’t believe that they bring bad luck it 
won’t do any harm to take them out, will it? ” 

“ No, I suppose not,” assented Katherine. 

“ Then come on,” urged Sue, starting toward the house 
as she spoke. 

At the best of times, the girls felt a little subdued in 
Grandmother’s parlor. It was such a spacious, dignified 
room with a kind of chill in the atmosphere which, some¬ 
how, they always connected with two great gilt-framed 
mirrors that hung on the walls directly opposite each other. 
Besides it had so many portraits of ladies and gentlemen 
whose solemn eyes seemed to follow your every movement; 
and no matter how noisy the rest of the house might be, the 
parlor was quiet and serene. 

It was not surprising then that on this dismal morning 
the silence was almost overwhelming to the girls, nor that 
they tiptoed past mirrors and portraits on their way to the 


SILVERFOOT 


103 


mantel where the offending feathers were. Aunt Virginia 
had arranged them carefully in a dull blue vase; and they 
looked very beautiful in spite of all that Aunt Calline had 
said against them. 

“ I wonder if they can do any harm,” said Katherine 
gazing at them with puzzled eyes. 

“ We’ll soon find out,” said Sue mounting an ottoman 
and plucking the feathers from the vase with a relentless 
hand. “ If little Harry gets well now, it will be a sure 
sign that Aunt Calline is right. 

“ And, anyway,” she continued as Katherine made no 
response, “ I’ll be glad when they are out of the house 
whether anybody else is or not. I’m going to throw them 
away this very minute, and then go to see Silver foot.” 

She hurried out of doors, tossed the feathers behind a 
clump of crepe-myrtle bushes and walked away trium¬ 
phantly, while Katherine and Caledonia, who could think 
of nothing better to do, followed her at a snail’s pace. 

The last time they had gone to the stables little Harry 
had been with them. Uncle Boss had lifted him up on one 


104 


SILVERFOOT 


of the carriage horses, and promised him that when he was 
a big boy he should ride Silverfoot. The girls grew very 
sad as they remembered this. 

Yet when they reached the stables and saw how eager 
Uncle Boss and Brer Nor’cross, who was there as usual, 
were for news of the sick child they were glad that they 
had come. 

All that they knew themselves, they told the old men, 
dwelling at length upon the need of quinine, and not for¬ 
getting to repeat exactly what the doctor had said about 
the blade of his knife and the thousand dollars. 

Uncle Boss was greatly disturbed by what he heard. 

“ Um moughty oneasy, moughty oneasy,” he said. 
“ Dis yer wah’s disruptin’ us in mo’ ways dan one/’ 

“ But hit ain’ disruptin’ de Lawd,” cried Brer Nor’cross. 
“ He don’ need no quinine ter ’complish His work. An’ 
ef He do, He’ll fine hit.” 

“ Oh, Uncle Nor’cross, do you think Harry will get 
well? ” asked Katherine catching hope from his words. 

“ I’se done prayed on hit, an’ pondered on hit an’ I 


SILVERFOOT 105 

ain’t in no ways cast down,” answered the old man 
solemnly. 

i 

“ Brer Nor’cross ” almost always expressed himself in 
Biblical fashion, and, whether they understood all he said 
or not, his hearers were usually “ hope up ” as Mammy 
Selie put it. The little girls were no exception to the 
rule, and as they turned from him to pay their visit to 
Silverfoot, Sue whispered: 

“ I feel ever, ever so much better about Harry, don’t 
you, Katherine? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” said Katherine, speaking out very firmly 
and aggressively; “ and I’m going right now to put those 
feathers in that vase again. I think it is just as silly as 
it can be to believe in them.” 

Before her cousins could recover from their surprise she 
had marched out of the stables without looking back once 
to see if they were coming, too. 

Sue and Caledonia ran after her, but neither of them 
protested when she gathered the scattered feathers from 
the ground, and they meekly watched her as she restored 


106 


SILVERFOOT 


the bright plumage to the blue vase where it looked as 
beautiful as before. There was no use arguing with Kath¬ 
erine when her mind was made up like that! And besides, 
in the face of such determination their own faith in Aunt 
Calline’s superstition began to weaken. 

“ I’m not going to worry about peacock-feathers any 
more and neither is Cousin; are you, Cousin? ” said Sue; 
“ and anyway I’ve thought of something splendid for us 
to do. Let’s go down to the hollow and gather penny¬ 
royal to put in the nursery. Mammy Selie says it’s fine 
to keep off fevers.” 

Down in the hollow where pennyroyal and balm and 
sweet-fern grew it was ever so much easier to be hopeful 
than it was in the house. And when the girls came home 
with their arms full of fragrant herbs they were greeted 
with good news. 

Some one had heard that quinine could still be bought 
at a little town not far distant, and, as soon as dinner was 
over, Grandmother, herself, was going to see if the report 
were true. 


SILVERFOOT 


107 


There were so many rumors that nobody knew what to 
believe. One day they would hear that the Yankees had 
been chased beyond the Mason and Dixon line, and the 
next that the Federal forces were within an hour’s march 
of Twin Oaks. 

But as for the quinine, on one chance in a hundred to 
get it, Grandmother would take the trip, she said. 

She was ready to get into the carriage when her eyes 
fell on the eager faces of her little granddaughters. They 
had grown pale and thin during these anxious days, she 
thought, and a change of any kind might do them good. 

“ Get your hats, children,” she called, “ and you may 
go with me.” 

Never was an invitation more joyfully accepted. 
Grandmother was the most adorable Grandmother in the 
world! She always was thinking of the little girls, and 
remembering that they liked to take part in things! The 
carriage had not gone a mile when they began to brighten 
up, and to chatter. 

It was a good opportunity to talk to Grandmother. 


108 SILVERFOOT 

Katherine told her what Uncle Northcross had said about 
Harry; and Sue asked her about peacock-feathers. 
Grandmother felt just as Katherine did about them. 
They had nothing to do with fevers. She liked them in 
vases, and had had a fan made of them when she was 
a young lady; and a great many people used them for fly- 
brushes. 

With such pleasant conversation the whole ride was de¬ 
lightful. Even Uncle Boss was in a high good humor and 
did not grumble when they came to a rough part of the 
road. 

They found Jonesboro, the place where they hoped to 
buy the quinine, a very small town with one long shady 
street, and one store, which, as its sign indicated, was dry- 
goods store, drug-store, and post-oflice combined. 

A tall man who wore grey trousers, a shirt of homespun, 
and an army hat which had a yellow-and-brown feather in 
its band, was standing in front of the store talking to a 
group of people. He was evidently a soldier on a fur¬ 
lough and the girls wished that they might hear what he 


SILVERFOOT 


109 


was telling, but when he spied the carriage he stopped 
talking, and the attention of the crowd was soon centered 
on the newcomers. There was quite a sympathetic mur¬ 
mur among the bystanders as Grandmother stated her 
errand to the storekeeper, who came out to ask what was 
wanted. 

Quinine? No, no quinine, he said. There had been 
some talk of a doll stuffed with quinine instead of sawdust 
which had been slipped through the lines, but that had been 
farther up. There was no telling whether the story was 
true or not. If the war lasted much longer, every store in 
the South would have to close. He had a few spools of 
thread left, though, and a box of soap, and a yard or so of 
calico. 

Grandmother decided that she had better go inside the 
store and look about. Quinine was her great need, but 
other things would not come amiss. 

“ Will you come with me? ” she asked the little girls, as 
she got out of the carriage. 

“ No, thank you, ma’am,’’ replied Sue, catching hold of 


110 SILVERFOOT 

her cousins’ skirts to keep them back. “ We’d rather stay 
here.” 

“ Maybe the soldier will finish what he was telling when 
we came,” she explained to Katherine and Caledonia; 
“ and it would be grand to hear him. He looks as if he 
might have been in hundreds of battles.” 

The stranger, unconscious of the interest he was creat¬ 
ing, occupied himself restlessly with dusting his hat, re¬ 
arranging its decoration, whittling on an empty spool, and 
whistling now and then; but he showed no intention of 
continuing his interrupted story. The girls had about 
made up their minds to join Grandmother, when, to their 
surprise, he rose from his seat on a soap-box and came 
toward the carriage. 

“ Little gals,” he said in a pleasant drawl that reminded 
them of ’Bama and her father, “ is some of you-all’s folks 
sick? ” 

“ Yes sir,” answered Katherine. “ Our little cousin is. 
We came all the way from Twin Oaks Plantation to try 
to get him some quinine.” 


SILVERFOOT 


111 


“ Wa’al,” said the man, “ I reckon I can let you have 
a dose or two for the little feller. I swapped some ter- 
backer with a Yank across the line for some quinine, and 
I reckon I can go halvings with the baby. I don’t need 
it. I’m tougher’n a pine knot.” 

He took a small package out of his pocket as he talked 
and, opening it, began to divide its contents with great 
deliberation, using the top of a big stone hitching-post as 
a table. The girls watched him in speechless amazement, 
which he did not, or pretended not to, notice. 

“ I reckon this here quinine is the quinine yo’ gran’ma 
heard about,” he said musingly. “ I told Hank Patterson 
over in Lawrence County about it, and Hank never could 
keep nothin’ to himself. Anyway, I notice news travels 
fast around here.” 

He handed the promised half of the precious drug, 
neatly folded in a bit of paper, to Katherine, and then 
looking at the children with a twinkle in his eyes, the 
soldier asked: 

“ What do you little gals aim to pay me? ” 


\ 


112 SILVERFOOT 

“ Whatever you want,” said Katherine; “ that is, Grand¬ 
mother will. I’ll go and get her.” 

“ I ain’t aimin’ to ask money,” said the man smiling in a 
teasing way, “ I want a song. Which one of you is a-goin’ 
to sing me ‘ Dixie ’ for that thar quinine? ” 

Katherine and Sue turned to each other in sudden dis¬ 
may. Of course they knew Dixie, everybody knew it; and 
the girls adored to sing when others were singing, too. 
But to sing by themselves seemed almost impossible. 
Still, if it were the price for the quinine, it must be done. 
Katherine was clearing her throat, and Sue was swallowing 
hard before beginning when a voice rang out confidently 
and sweetly: 

“ ‘ Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton. 

Good times there are not forgotten, 

Look away! Look away! Look away! 

Dixie Land! ’” 

Caledonia! Singing of her own accord for a stranger! 
Her cousins could hardly believe their ears. 

“ Mustn’t we sing, too? ” whispered Sue. 



<( 1 Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land! ’ 

Page 112 




















113 


SILVERFOOT 

“ No, no,” said Katherine; “ she doesn’t need us one bit.” 

A little crowd began to gather around the carriage, and 
Grandmother came hurrying out of the store. 

“ Girls, girls,” she called, astonished at what she saw and 
heard. Sue and Katherine slipped from the carriage and 
rushed to meet her. 

“ The soldier has given us quinine, and Cousin is singing 
‘ Dixie ’ to pay him for it,” said Katherine, thrusting the 
priceless package into Grandmother’s hands. 

“ Don’t stop her! ” implored Sue. “ Please don’t stop 
her! Oh, isn’t it glorious! ” 

Bewildered Grandmother could do nothing but wait 
until Caledonia’s song came to a triumphant ending, in 
which the entire crowd joined with enthusiasm: 

“ ‘ In Dixie Land I’ll take my stand, 

To live and die for Dixie.’ ” 

The tall soldier was the loudest singer in the chorus, but 
afterwards, when Grandmother wanted to thank him for 
his kindness, he was nowhere to be seen. He was a 
stranger passing through the town and the storekeeper, of 


114 


SILVERFOOT 


whom Grandmother made inquiry, could tell her little 
about him; but she gained one bit of information which 
delighted the girls. He belonged to a regiment of soldiers 
known far and wide as the “ Alabama Yellow-Hammers.” 

“ I knew he was somebody wonderful the minute I saw 
him,” Sue declared. 

But no one seemed more wonderful than Caledonia to 
her admiring cousins. All the way home they were talk¬ 
ing about her performance. 44 How in the world could 
you do it? ” asked one. 44 1 think it was the bravest thing 
I ever heard of,” said the other. 

Grandmother had praise for the little girl, too; and 
Uncle Boss chuckled as he guided Rock and Rye over the 
rough road. 

44 Miss Callie’s mo’ lak de Carrolls dan us-all ’lowed she 
wuz,” he said, which was the greatest compliment that he 
knew how to pay her. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


S OON after the visit to Jonesboro, little Harry began 
to improve, and the whole plantation was filled with 
rejoicing. 

Aunt Calline sang hymns as she stirred her Hopping 
Johnny, or mixed her corn bread; Brer Nor’cross men¬ 
tioned the child by name in a sermon that he preached on 
the story of Elisha and the Shunammite’s Son, and set his 
whole congregation to shouting; and Uncle Boss regarded 
the child’s recovery as a great victory over the Yankees. 

“We beat ’em dis time, an’ we’se gwine beat ’em agin,” 
he told Jim and Brer Nor’cross, slapping his knee to em¬ 
phasize his words. 

The girls were untiring in their devotion to Harry whom 

they were allowed to entertain sometimes as he grew 

stronger. They told him stories, they sang to him, they 

made him leaf-crowns and clover-chains and “ pinny- 

115 


116 


SILVERFOOT 


shows,” which were elaborate arrangements of bright 
flower petals pressed between pieces of glass. 

But, though they did not love him any the less, they 
soon began to pick up the interests that had occupied their 
minds before the little boy’s illness. 

Foremost among these was the family in Shattuck’s 
Cove. Had Bud ever come home? Was Ma still sick? 
Was ’Bama watching for Silverfoot? How could they 
manage to see her again? These were the questions they 
discussed again and again. 

More than once they thought they saw the ox-wagon in 
the road, and ran to look over the orchard fence; but 
though ox-wagons sometimes passed, ’Bama and Pa were 
in none of them. Sue began to imagine all sorts of things 
about their mountain friends. 

“ Suppose Bud has been killed,” she said during one of 

\ 

their discussions. “ Wouldn’t that be dreadful? Just 
think of his poor mother and father and ’Bama up there 
on that lonely mountain watching and waiting for him, and 
not knowing that he will never come again.” 


SILVERFOOT 117 

“ Don’t you think Colonel Jim would send them word? ” 
asked Katherine. 

“ Colonel Jim may be dead, too,” said Sue mournfully; 
“ but he could be a prisoner, and Bud, too—I’ve just 
thought of that—and if they are perhaps they’ll dig their 
way out of prison. That’s what I’d do if the Yankees got 
me. I’d dig a tunnel right under my bed, and when it 
was large enough I’d creep through and take all the other 
prisoners with me.” 

This solution of Bud’s delay satisfied Sue for quite a 
long time; then she suddenly decided that he had come and 
gone. 

“ I should think ’Bama would have let us know,” she 
complained, “ specially when you took so much pains with 
the letter, Katherine.” 

“ Never mind,” said Katherine. “ I don’t care, just so 
he got the letter. Besides we may hear all about it yet.” 

And sure enough who should appear at Grandmother’s 
door one afternoon but Bud himself! 

The older members of the family had gone to a neigh- 




118 SILVERFOOT 

bor’s house to knit and sew for the soldiers. They were 
always working at home for the same cause, but once in a 
while it did the women of the neighborhood good to get 
together. Aunt Bessie said, “ Misery loves company,” 
but Grandmother thought it would be better to say, “ Com¬ 
pany helps Courage.” 

When their elders were away the little girls felt as if 
they were the ladies of the house, so they sat out on the 
gallery in large rocking-chairs and talked quietly. 

They were on the gallery when Bud came limping up 
the avenue. He had never heard of Katherine or Sue or 
Caledonia, and they did not suspect that he was the boy 
of whom they had thought and talked so much. But they 
did see that he was a Confederate soldier, footsore and 
tired, and they ran to meet him and invite him in. 

“ I can sit here,” he said dropping on the lowest step 
of the porch. “ I’m just plum’ wore out, an’ that’s the 
truth.” 

“ But you can spend the night here,” Katherine hast¬ 
ened to assure him. “ Grandmother loves to have our 


SILVERFOOT 


119 


soldier boys stay here. She says she can’t do enough for 
them.” 

The boy shook his head 

“ I’m aimin’ to make the mountain to-night,” he said, 
“ if yo’ gran’ma’ll let me have a mule to ride. I jes’ can’t 
walk no further, an’ I’m ’bleeged to get home.” 

“ She’ll let you have a mule to-morrow I know,” said 
Sue, “ but she can’t this evening because old Mr. Tucker 
borrowed the only good ones we have left, to work his crop 
with to-day. We gave some of our mules to the army, 
and we’ve had bad luck with most of the others; two have 
died and another is lame. Little Fannie believes some¬ 
body ‘ kunjered ’ them and so does Chess-Ann.” 

“ Seems-like I can’t wait till mornin’,” said the boy. 
“ I hain’t got but two days to stay at home an’ Ma’s sick. 
Pa had a letter writ to me an’ Colonel Jim to tell us ’bout 
her.” 

The girls sprang to their feet in delighted astonishment. 

“ I’m the one who wrote the letter,” said Katherine. 

“ We know ’Barna,” said Caledonia. 


120 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Why didn’t you come sooner? ” asked Sue. 

“ Me an’ Colonel Jim was too busy fightin’ the Yan¬ 
kees,” answered Bud, in a livelier manner. “ But as soon 
as we run ’em back a piece Colonel Jim said for me to 
come, on ’count of Ma. I hain’t but two days to stay, 
though.” 

He was so tired and disheartened that the girls could 
have cried over him. They ran to the kitchen to get him a 
glass of buttermilk and a plate of corn bread. Grand¬ 
mother always said that nothing cheered a tired soldier 
like a good meal. 

“ You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten a little,” Kath¬ 
erine assured him as they offered him their simple re¬ 
freshments. 

He was an overgrown, bashful boy with eyes like his 
sister’s. The girls could not persuade him to tell them 
any of his war experiences, though he did admit, after 
much questioning, that he and Colonel Jim, who wasn’t 
afraid of any Yankee living, had been in a heap of fight¬ 
ing. 


SILVERFOOT 


121 


As he rested, though, the girls told him all about their 
meeting with ’Bama; how Caledonia had spied the wagon; 
how they had thought ’Bama was a grown woman; and 
how she had promised to hide Silverfoot in Shattuck’s 
Cove if the Yankees came. Sue did most of the talking. 

“ Won’t ’Bama be surprised when she hears that we 
saw you before she did; and that you’ve stayed at our 
house? ” she asked at last, taking it for granted that he 
would have to wait till morning. 

Bud rose unsteadily to his feet. 

“ Thanky, ma’am, to all of you-uns,” he said politely. 
“ I sure was wore out, but I reckon I can get on now. 
Leastways, I’ll walk as fur as I can.” 

“ No you won’t,” said Katherine, who had been very 
quiet for the last few minutes. “ I know a way that you 
can ride. I’m going to lend you my uncle’s horse.” 

“ Silverfoot! ” exclaimed Sue taken aback for once by 
Katherine’s daring. 

“ Without asking Grandmother? ” cried Caledonia. 

“ She isn’t here to ask,” said Katherine, “ and she isn’t 


122 


SILVERFOOT 


coming back till late. I heard her tell Aunt Calline so. 
And Bud has to get home to-night. Just think if it were 
Charlie trying to come to us! ” 

“ Won’t Uncle Boss be mad? ” asked Caledonia. 

“ I don’t care if he is,” answered Katherine. “ I’m 
going to lend Silverfoot to Bud if he isn’t afraid to ride 
him, and there isn’t any use in talking any more about it.” 

“ I ain’t scared to ride,” Bud hastened to say. “ Me 
an’ Colonel Jim are in the Infantry, but once I rode old 
man Dick Crockett’s bucking hoss up to Mountain Mills. 
An’ I’ll take good keer of yo’ hoss, and bring him home on 
my way back.” 

There was no one in the stables to interfere with Kath¬ 
erine’s plans. Uncle Boss had driven the ladies to their 
meeting place, and Rhody’s Jim had gone along to open 
gates for him. So, under the supervision of the girls, 
Bud led the horse out and put a bridle on him. There 
was some question as to whether a saddle should be used, 
or whether Bud should ride “ bareback ” as Jim did, which 
was decided in favor of the latter. 


SILVERFOOT 


123 


“ Him an’ me ain’t used to saddles,” said Bud as he 
mounted the colt. 

Silverfoot stood like a lamb. It almost seemed as if he 
knew that this was an occasion that demanded good be¬ 
havior. 

“ Did you ever see such a beauty! ” exclaimed Sue as 
he stepped proudly away under Bud’s guidance; and she 
added, when the horse and rider had gone beyond recall: 

“ I hope Grandmother isn’t going to be angry with you 
for lending Silverfoot, Katherine. I think it was a per¬ 
fectly splendid thing to do. I wish I had thought of it 
myself.” 

“ Somehow I don’t think Grandmother is going to care,” 
said Katherine; “ but I wish she would come on home so 
I could tell her.” 

“ I’ll tell my mother and get her to tell Grandmother 
if you want me to,” offered Caledonia; but Katherine 
would not consent to this. 

“ I’m not afraid to tell Grandmother anything,” she 
declared stoutly. 


124 


SILVERFOOT 


Grandmother was late in getting home. It was almost 
dusk when the girls, who had been anxiously awaiting her 
return, heard the sound of the carriage wheels in the 
avenue. 

Katherine sprang to her feet at once; and so did her 
cousins. 

“ Don’t you want us to go with you to tell Grand¬ 
mother? ” asked Sue. “We wouldn’t mind it a bit, would 
we, Cousin? ” 

“ I don’t want anybody,” said Katherine, “ but I’m go¬ 
ing to wait till Grandmother comes up to her room. She 
always does come to take off her bonnet and smooth her 
hair.” 

She stood listening in the doorway of the Buff Room 
where she and her cousins had been waiting; Grandmother 
was lingering in the hall below talking to Sue’s mother; 
now she was coming up the stairs alone; she had reached 
the up-stairs hall; she was opening her door; she was clos¬ 
ing it. 

“ I’m going to tell her right now,” said Katherine; but 


“Did you ever see such a beauty!”— Page 123. 











































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SILVERFOOT 


125 


she had hardly gone a step when she turned to assure her 
cousins once more that she was almost certain that Grand¬ 
mother would not be angry. 

She kept her faith and courage as she went down the 
hall, but when she had knocked at Grandmother’s door, 
and Grandmother had called, “ Come in,” she waited a 
minute, well, perhaps a little more than a minute before 
she did go in. To lend Silverfoot without permission 
seemed all at once such a dreadful thing to have done. 

Then flinging the door open she rushed into her story 
as fast as her tongue could tell it: 

“ Bud Shattuck has been here and I let him ride Silver¬ 
foot to the mountain because he was just worn out walk¬ 
ing. Sue and Cousin and I know his sister and father. 
They came from the mountain in an ox-wagon, and I’m 
just sure they are the kind of mountain people that Grand¬ 
father Carroll thought so much of. Bud promised to take 
care of Silverfoot and bring him back. He was in a hurry 
to get home to-night because his mother’s sick. I wrote a 
letter to tell him about it, and Colonel Jim—he’s a splendid 



126 


SILVERFOOT 


Colonel, and not afraid of any Yankee, Bud says—let him 
come as soon as he could. It did seem a long time to Sue 
and Cousin and me, though, before he got here. And he 
hasn’t but two days to stay. Bud’s in the Infantry and of 
course he doesn’t have to have a horse for that. But he 
knew how to ride, and Silverfoot did beautifully, never 
kicked nor anything. I wish you could have seen him, 
Grandmother.” 

She stopped to take a long breath, and then ended 
bravely: 

“I’m sorry I had to do it without asking you, but I 
thought I ought to let him ride.” 

She looked straight into Grandmother’s eyes as she 
spoke, and Grandmother stooped and kissed her upturned 
face before she answered: 

“ I’m glad you let the boy have the horse. I believe 
it is just what your Aunt Kitty would have done.” 


CHAPTER NINE 


U NCLE BOSS had more to say about the lending 
of Silverfoot than anybody else. Little Fannie 
reported that he was “ tearing up de air ” in his 
wrath, and the little girls wisely kept away from the 
stables. He had a constant audience, however, in Rhody’s 
Jim and Brer Nor’cross. 

“ I dunno what’s gwine happen ter us-all,” he grumbled, 
“ caze when de chillun take de reins in dere han’s, dar 
gwine be a smash-up des ez sho’ ez you is bawn. Huccome 
dat boy couldn’t wait twell mawnin’? 

“ Whut dat you say, Brer Nor’cross? He’s gwine fetch 
de hoss back? How you know? I don’ put no dependi- 
ment in what he promise.” 

“ Put yo’ dependiment in de Lawd, Brer Boss,” said 

Brer Nor’cross; “ an’ den you kin res’ easy.” But Uncle 

Boss was in no humor to heed counsel. 

“ I’se plum’ ’stonished at Mis’ Lucy,” he continued. 

127 


128 SILVERFOOT 

“ I beat hit hot-foot ter de house las’ night ter tell her 
Marse Charlie’s hoss hed done been stole, an’ dar she sot 
ca’m ez Chris’mus. ‘ Hit’s all right, Unk Boss,’ she say. 
‘ Yo’ Miss Katherine hez des lent him ter one er our 
soldiers. He’ll fetch ’im back.’ An’ dar sot Miss Kate 
smiling des lak she’s done sumpin’ smart. I ’low dat ain’t 
’cordin’ ter scriptur.” 

“ Hit’s ’cordin’ ter scriptur to holp dem dat need holp,” 
said Brer Nor’cross firmly. “ An’ I ’low dat’s what Miss 
Kate done.” 

“ I’se gwine ter de mount’in atter Silverfut ef dey don’ 
fetch ’im back,” said Jim, who was entirely sympathetic 
with Uncle Boss. “ Hit ain’t too fur ter walk, an’ I kin 
ride Silverfut home. Ef dey don’ lemme go, I’se gwine 
run away, I is.” 

If Uncle Boss and Jim had only known it, the little 
girls were as anxious as they for Silverfoot’s return. In 
the first place, Charlie had left the horse in their charge, 
and though they were positive that it had been right to lend 
him to Bud, the sooner Bud brought him back, the better 


SILVERFOOT 


129 


pleased they would be. But, of course, they were not go¬ 
ing to tell Uncle Boss this. 

Then they did so much want to hear Bud tell of his ar¬ 
rival at home, though Sue had already described it as if 
she had been on the spot. Katherine and Caledonia could 
almost see the three pines, and the path that dipped down 
to the cabin in the Cove, and ’Bama and “ Ma ” waiting in 
the open hall as Sue talked. 

“ I shouldn’t be one bit surprised if Ma fainted when 
she saw Bud riding up to the door on such a beautiful 
black horse. And ’Bama screamed and Pa came running 
in. That’s just the way I believe it happened, and I do 
wish I had been there,” she said. 

But Sue in her wildest flight of fancy did not imagine 
anything more satisfactory than what actually occurred on 
the last day of Bud’s furlough. 

They had not begun to look for him when they spied, 
coming up the avenue, not only Bud and Silverfoot, but 
’Bama in her black sunbonnet, and “ Ma ” looking a little 
thin and pale, but radiantly happy. 


130 


SILVERFOOT 


“ We-uns is goin’ to town with Bud,” she told them 
proudly as soon as they made acquaintance with her. 
“ An’ we jes’ drapped in to say howdy and thanky to 
you-uns. Hit was plum’ thoughtful in you to lend Bud 
the nag.” 

There was nothing slow or reserved about Mrs. Shat- 
tuck. She was fairly bubbling over with friendly con¬ 
versation. 

“ Pa would a-come in, too, but he ’lowed he’d better 
stay with the waggin and team. Thar’s a sight er passin’ 
on the big road, an’ them oxen is jes’ like chil’ren to Pa,” 
she explained. “ An’ he ain’t no talker, nohow. A passle 
er wimmen folks scares Pa plum’ to death.” 

She had brought a sitting of eggs for Grandmother and 
she had a great deal to tell about this, too. 

“ ’Bama says, ‘ Ma, I reckon them folks has got aigs 
to throw away,’ an’ I says, ‘What if they is? A 
settin’ er my Dominecker aigs ain’t a-gointer hurt 
nobody, an’ if I don’t take ’em aigs I hain’t got nothin’ 
else; an’ they so good to Bud. Hit’s aigs or nothin’, an’ 


SILVERFOOT 


131 


I’d be ashamed to go down thar without I taken some¬ 
thin’/ ” 

Grandmother, who had come out to welcome the visitors, 
hastened to assure Mrs. Shattuck of her appreciation of 
the gift, and a lively discussion of poultry followed, in 
which Ma took a leading part. 

“ Seems like Ma’s a hull lot better since Bud come,” 
’Bama confided to the girls. “ She went to shoutin’ the 
minute she seen him ridin’ up to the door, an’ hit took Pa 
an’ me both to hold her till he could git down and come 
in.” 

“ Well, I knew something exciting would happen,” said 
Sue in a most satisfied tone. 

Of course the secret agreement between ’Bama and the 
girls about the hiding of Silverfoot had to be revealed now, 
but Grandmother heartily approved of the plan. 

“ I could not want better guardians for the horse,” she 
told Mrs. Shattuck; “and we’ll send him to you at the 
first definite news that the Yankees are coming; though I 
am hopeful that all these brave boys of ours will soon send 


132 SILVERFOOT 

them back to their own section,” she added, smiling at Bud, 
who immediately grew flushed and sheepish. 

“ Thet’s whut I say,” said Mrs. Shattuck. “ ‘ Run ’em 
back,’ I tells Bud, ‘ an’ come on home to stay. Thar ain’t 
no use takin’ so long ’bout hit.’ But Bud he says they’s 
good fighters, they selves, if they is Yankees.” 

“ I just love Ma,” Sue declared when the visit had come 
to an end and the Shattucks had started on their tedious 
journey to town, “ and I think Bud and ’Bama are grand. 
Oh, Katherine, do you suppose Grandmother will ever let 
us go to Shattuck’s Cove? I’d rather go there than any¬ 
where else in the world.” 

It was soon after this that Mammy Selie expressed her 
opinion that “ whut wid takin’ up wid folkses dat nobody 
don’ know nuffin’ ’bout, an’ tearin’ ’roun’ de place lak 
young colts, an’ actin’ lak dey’s grown ” the little girls 
were the “ mos’ outdaciousest chillun ” that ever lived. 

They were so full of themselves that hardly a day passed 
without Candace and Chess-Ann, Grandmother’s maids 
who superintended the toilets of her little granddaughters, 


SILVERFOOT 


133 


threatening to tell “ Miss Lucy ” of their unseemly be¬ 
havior. 

On one afternoon, in particular, Katherine and Sue were 
in such lively moods that there was no doing anything with 
them. 

“ Miss Callie’s de only one dat do pretty, an’ I ’specks 
Miss Lucy’s gwine teck all Miss Kitty’s does from y’-all 
an’ gib ’em ter her,” Chess-Ann declared. 

Caledonia stood by primly, looking like one of 
Grandmother’s tea-roses in Aunt Kitty’s “ Flyaway ” 
dress. Every curl was in place, every button fastened, 
every bow tied. She could not help feeling a little, just a 
little, self-satisfied at Chess-Ann’s praises. But her sat¬ 
isfaction did not last long for just then Little Fannie 
opened the door and put her head in. 

“ Comp’ny’s in de parler,” she announced, giggling as 
if she thought what she said was very amusing. “ Some 
Confedrit gem’mun. I ’lows dey’s gen’rals er sumpin’ nur, 
dey’s so biggety. Miss Lucy ain’t hyer nur none de ladies. 
Dey’s gone ter Miss Betty Baxter’s fune’al. An’ I ’lows 


134 


SILVERFOOT 


youse got ter come see ’em. Dey’s settin’ right dar in de 
parler waitin’.” 

“ Cousin will have to go,” said Katherine. “ She’s the 
only one who is dressed.” 

“ But I don’t want to go,” protested Caledonia. “ I 
don’t know who they are and I don’t know what to say to 
them.” 

“ You’ll just have to say ‘ Good evening,’ and tell them 
you are glad to see them and that Grandmother and all 
the others are away. You won’t mind that, will you? ” 

“ Yes, I will,” said Caledonia, “ and I’m not going. 
Chess-Ann will fasten your dresses quick if you’ll stand 
still, and then we can all go down together.” 

“ Aren’t you ashamed of yourself,” cried Sue, “to be 
afraid of our own dear soldiers? I wish I were dressed, 
I’d only be too glad to go.” 

“ Cousin wasn’t afraid when she sang for the soldier at 
Jonesboro,” Katherine put in diplomatically; “and I 
don’t believe she’s afraid now. She just thinks she is, 
that’s all.” 


SILVERFOOT 


135 


“How many of them are there, Little Fannie?” de¬ 
manded Caledonia. 

“ Two big ’uns and one little ’un,” answered Little 
Fannie, holding her hand before her mouth. “ I tole ’em 
dar warn’t nobody home but de gals, an’ dey ’lowed dey 
like ter see de gals.” 

“ Go on, Cousin,” urged Katherine, “ Sue and I will be 
there in a minute and it isn’t polite to keep company wait¬ 
ing.” 

Under the circumstances there was nothing for Cale¬ 
donia to do but go, but she was not going to hurry no 
matter what Katherine said. 

She dragged her feet along the hall and stopped on each 
step of the stairs hoping that her cousins would catch up 
with her. Oh, why had she gotten dressed first? Neither 
one of the other girls would have minded talking to stran¬ 
gers at all. Sue could talk to a stone image, Aunt Bessie 
said she could; and Katherine always knew what to say. 
It was all very well for them to tell her, “ Go on, Cousin,” 
but if they thought it was as easy to talk to strangers as 


136 


SILVERFOOT 


it was to sing “ Dixie ” at Jonesboro, they were very much 
mistaken. 

She had reached the last step by this time and the parlor 
was close at hand. Oh, if Grandmother, or even Cousin 
Betsy Patrick would come! Oh, why hadn’t she thought 
of bringing Little Fannie with her? Little Fannie cer¬ 
tainly had acted queerly, though. Maybe she had been 
fooling them about the company. But no, when Cale¬ 
donia looked eagerly into the parlor to see if this conjec¬ 
ture were true, she was confronted by three soldiers, two 
of them tall and one short, just as Little Fannie had 
said. 

They had their hats on, pulled far down over their eyes, 
and handkerchiefs wrapped around their chins, so that the 
little girl could scarcely see their faces. 

She had always thought that gentlemen took their hats 
off in the house. Mammy Selie wouldn’t let even little 
Harry keep his bonnet on in the nursery. Besides, 
whether they were indoors or out, gentlemen took off their 
hats when a lady came where they were. And no matter 


SILVERFOOT 


137 


if she was only ten years old, Caledonia was a lady. She 
was positive about that. 

But these very queer soldiers only stood and looked at 
her without speaking, much less lifting their hats. She 
was obliged to begin the conversation herself. 

“ I’m Caledonia,” she said timidly; “ and the other girls 
are coming as soon as they can.” 

The soldiers drew themselves up and saluted her with 
great dignity, which somewhat allayed Caledonia’s agita¬ 
tion; but they mumbled their words and greetings so that 
she could not understand a word. A wild suspicion that 

they might be spies entered her mind, though Sue had 

* 

always said that spies pretended to be just like everybody 
else, which these strangers certainly did not do. Oh, why 
didn’t the girls come on? Surely they must be ready by 
this time! 

“ Grandmother is away and so is my mother and Aunt 
Virginia and all of them,” she continued when the silence 
grew embarrassing again, “ They’ve gone to Mrs. Baxter’s 
funeral.” 


138 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Mrs. Baxter, m-m-m-” mumbled the tallest 

soldier. 

Caledonia supposed that he must want to hear more 
about the poor lady. 

“ She was a very dear friend of ours,” she said sadly. 
“ When Harry was sick she sent him a cup-custard.” 

At this piece of information one of the visitors started 
forward and began a question in quite an animated voice, 
but he checked himself and ended the sentence in a cough. 

Caledonia was about to say what she had heard her 
mother say many times: “ I’m sorry you have a cold,” 
when all at once a brilliant idea came to her. Sue could 
not have thought of anything better. 

“ Don’t you want me to go and get Aunt Calline to 
make you some tea? ” she asked. “ She says it will keep 
off colds, and pepper tea will keep off shaking chills, and 
sassafras tea thins your blood and is nice to drink, any¬ 
way.” Oh, how she wished that all of them would want 
tea of some kind; but instead of answering they began to 
laugh right out loud. 



SILVERFOOT 


139 


This strange behavior surprised Caledonia beyond words 
and Katherine, who appeared in the doorway just then, 
was surprised at it, too. She stared at the mysterious 
visitors so hard that one of them turned his back to her as 
if he were offended. 

Then instead of being ashamed of her impoliteness, as 
Caledonia thought she certainly would be, Katherine 
darted wildly into the room and flung herself upon the 
tallest of the strangers. 

“ Father! Father! and Uncle Henry, too. And Cousin 
Bob! I know you all,” she cried. 

A whirl of excitement, which seemed to have no end, 
followed Katherine’s delightful discovery. No sooner had 
she and Caledonia been kissed and hugged, and hugged 
and kissed, than Sue appeared for her share of greetings. 
And Sue had not recovered from her astonishment when 
Grandmother and the rest of the grown people arrived. 
Then everybody had to go to the nursery to see little 
Harry and the other babies and make what Mammy Selie 
called a “ ’miration ” over them. And Uncle Henry had to 


140 


SILVERFOOT 


kiss and hug the little girls again when he heard about the 
quinine and Caledonia’s song. 

He said he would be willing to drink a whole pot of the 
strongest ginger tea that Aunt Calline could make if it 
would please Caledonia. 

But Cousin Bob was never done laughing about the teas. 
He nicknamed the girls, Ginger and Pepper and Sassa¬ 
fras, and would not call them anything else the whole time 
he stayed at Twin Oaks. 

Caledonia was a little ashamed of not knowing her 
uncles and cousin but that was before they told her how 
disappointed they would have been if she had found them 
out. Surprises were such fun. 

But Little Fannie had known them from the first, and 
if she had not kept her hand over her mouth when she went 
to call the girls the truth would have popped right out, or 
at least that is what she told them. 


CHAPTER TEN 


D URING the soldiers’ visit Cousin Gage invited the 
family at Twin Oaks to spend a day with her. 
The invitation especially mentioned Katherine 
and Sue and Caledonia, and, to their great delight, they 
were selected to ride in Cousin Gage’s carriage, which 
Pomp, her carriage-driver, brought over to help in the 
transportation of the guests. 

Sue, who had heard stories of slaves supposed to be of 
royal blood, had taken up a fancy that Pomp was an 
African Prince, partly because he was so tall and stately, 
and partly because he wore an earring in his left ear. 

She had questioned both Mammy Selie and Little Fan¬ 
nie on the subject, getting widely different answers: 

“ A whut? ” Mammy Selie had asked. “ A prince? 
Who dat you talkin’ ’bout? Pomp? Huccome he dat? 

He look lak plain nigger ter me.” 

141 


142 SILVERFOOT 

Little Fannie on the other hand had seized upon their 
idea and added to it. 

“ I ’spects he is a prince, caze he sho’ do lak hit, settin’ 
up dar in Mis’ Gage’s kerridge lak Mister Big-Man. An’ 
ef he is, I lay he kin kunjer. Unk Pearl, he say Afrykin 
niggers wuz de awfulest folks fer kunjerfying dat ebber 
he see. I lay dat’s huccome Pomp ain’t let on whut he 
is. Mis’ Gage don’ want nuffin’ lak dat roun’ ’er.” 

This had been encouraging but not altogether convinc¬ 
ing so, while the girls were waiting for the rest of the 
party, Sue determined to question Pomp himself. 

“ Do you remember where you used to live? ” she in¬ 
quired, preparing to lead him out tactfully. Pomp was 
all smiles and politeness at once. 

“ Whut’s dat my little mistis is axin’ me? Whar I lib, 
when? ” he inquired in his turn. 

“ Before you belonged to Cousin Gage or her father,” 
explained Sue. 

“ I ain’t nebber belonged to nobody but my ole Marster 
an’ Mis’ Gage,” said Pomp with pride in his voice. 


SILVERFOOT 


143 


“Yes, but I mean: do you remember the place where 
you were born? ” said Sue, speaking very slowly and em¬ 
phatically, as if slowness and emphasis would make her 
meaning clearer. And Pomp, impressed by her manner, 
repeated her question gravely: 

“ Does I remember de place whar I wuz bawn? Dat I 
does, Missy. I sho’ does. Me an’ my Mammy libs in 
dat ve’y house. We ain’t nebber been nowhar’s else.” 

Sue’s face fell, but she clung to her belief that there was 
a mystery of some kind connected with Pomp. 

“ Why do you wear an earring? ” she asked next with 
some hesitation, for she was doubtful as to the propriety 
of the question. But Pomp was not in the least offended. 

“ My Mammy put hit in my year so she could ’tinguish 
me frum Rome,” he answered, smiling broadly. 

“ Who’s Rome? ” asked persistent Sue. 

“ He wuz my twin ’fo’ he died,” said Pomp solemnly. 
“ Me and him sho’ did faver one anur, ’cep’n’ dat Rome 
wuz heap littler dan me.” 

Sue was about to inquire why, when there was such a 


144 SILVERFOOT 

difference in the size of her children, Pomp’s mother had 
had any difficulty in telling them apart; but, just then, the 
rest of the company invited to Cousin Gage’s came hurry¬ 
ing out to get into the carriages, and there was no time 
for another question. 

Pomp was not the only interesting member of Cousin 
Gage’s household. Everybody and everything connected 
with it was fascinating to the girls. 

First of all in importance was Cousin Gage, herself, who 
had been Aunt Kitty’s playmate and who, besides this, had 
many other claims to the interest of her romance-loving 
little cousins. 

Cousin Gage’s husband had left his bride, and his wed¬ 
ding breakfast, where a hundred guests were gathered, to 
ride away with his regiment; and he had never come back. 
News of him reached her now and then from distant 
places. He had been captured by the enemy and had 
escaped; he had been left for dead on a battlefield, and 
rescued just in time to save his life; he had been sent on 
important missions more than once; but no matter what 


SILVERFOOT 145 

he did, it seemed to take him farther and farther from 
home. 

All of the kinsfolk had united in begging Cousin Gage 
to leave her plantation and live with some of them; but she 
would not be persuaded. 

What could harm her in the place where she had lived 
all her life, with servants who had helped to raise her, she 
asked; and she had had her way. 

Cousin Gage’s home was called a mansion, a name which 
greatly appealed to Katherine and Sue and Caledonia. 
To visit a mansion seemed ever so much more thrilling 
than to visit a house. 

The Mansion was filled with beautiful draperies and 
pictures and vases brought from countries across the seas. 
Cousin Gage’s father had been a great traveler. He had 
even sailed on the Indian Ocean, and had brought from its 
shores shells of the most exquisite shapes and tints. Chil¬ 
dren who visited the Mansion were always allowed to ex¬ 
amine and play with these shells. 

Next in interest to Cousin Gage and her house were the 


146 


SILVERFOOT 


dogs that belonged to Cousin Jack, the soldier bridegroom. 
Every visitor had to make the acquaintance of the dogs 
and Thomas Jefferson, the little black pickaninny, who 
was never long away from them. The dogs were named 
for jewels: Diamond, Sapphire, Topaz, and Amethyst, 
and it was great fun for the children to hear Thomas Jef- 
ferson call them. 

Another noted person at the Mansion was Mammy 
Rose, who had nursed Cousin Gage when she was a baby, 
and who still managed things about the place with a high 
hand. She would hardly trust her young mistress out of 
her sight, and when Cousin Gage was asked to do this or 
that she would laugh and say: 

“ I will if Mammy Rose will let me.” 

When the carriages loaded with guests drove up to the 
Mansion Cousin Gage was waiting on the steps, looking as 
pretty as a picture in her homespun dress, and Mammy 
Rose was standing right behind her, courtesying and 
smiling. 

Everybody kissed Cousin Gage and shook hands with 



Cousin Gage was waiting on the steps.— Page 11+6. 
















SILVERFOOT 


147 


Mammy Rose; and Cousin Gage cried a little. When¬ 
ever any soldier came home it made her want Jack so 
much; but he would come, too, some day, she said, winking 
her tears away and laughing. She had his place set at 
every meal. And before they went into the house they 
must see his dogs. 

“ Thomas Jefferson, bring the dogs around,” she called. 
Whereupon there rose a great turmoil in the side-yard; a 
tremendous barking mixed with shrill calling: 

“ Hyer Di’! Hyer Saf! Hyer Toe! Hyer Am’tist! 
Hyer! ” 

The girls were convulsed with laughter by the time 
Thomas Jefferson appeared surrounded by his charges, 
that leaped and frolicked about him with so much affection 
that it was as much as he could do to walk. 

When Cousin Gage spoke to them, though, they all 
stood at attention; the dogs, bird-dogs all of them, as alert 
as if they were on a hunt, and Thomas Jefferson with his 
comical black face composed to seriousness. 

After the dogs had been admired and Thomas Jeffer- 


148 


SILVERFOOT 


son complimented, Cousin Gage and her company went 
into the house and sat in the parlor to talk. The little 
girls went, too, but when, by and by, the conversation 
drifted to the discussion of war problems, Cousin Gage 
proposed a diversion to them. 

“ Don’t you want to take the shells out on the gallery 
and play with them? ” she asked. 

The girls would have preferred to stay where they were, 
but they understood very well that Cousin Gage wished 
them to go, and the reason, too, so they rose politely and 
retired to the gallery at once. 

“ I do wish they would let us hear about everything. I 
don’t care how sad it is,” said Sue. “ What harm could it 
do us? And I think we are too old to play with shells.” 

Yet the shells were not without charm. One, when 
you opened it, looked like a pink and white butterfly; one, 
the tiniest of all, had a pearl in its lips, and another held 
the sound of the sea; or so the girls thought. 

When Sue held it to her ear she immediately had visions 
of coral islands and glittering sand and waving palms; a 


SILVERFOOT 


149 


kind of glorious mixture of what she imagined Cousin 
Gage’s father had seen. 

“ Let’s go down under the bridal-wreath bush and make 
a grotto,” she said, forgetful of her age. “We can lay the 
shells all around and have mimosa leaves for seaweed. 
I’ll show you when we get down there.” 

This proved a fascinating occupation, and the girls were 
so absorbed in it that they failed to hear the footsteps of a 
new arrival, who, instead of following the graveled walk to 
the Mansion, turned aside and came toward their play- 
place. It was not until this newcomer spoke that 
they looked up to find an eager-faced soldier watching 
them. 

“ See here, children. You are some of the little Carroll 
cousins I know by the look of you, and I’m your Cousin 
Jack. I want you to go into the house and get Gage for 
me,” he said, speaking so rapidly that they had no oppor¬ 
tunity to express their surprise. 

“ Don’t tell her I’m here, but bring her, double-quick 
time, for I’ve been waiting long enough to see her. You 


150 


SILVERFOOT 


can do it all right. Tell her you’ve something to show 
her. Run along like the sweetest girls in the world, and 
I’ll love you forever,” he added waving them on so in¬ 
sistently that they were almost at the house before they 
knew it. 

They had come so fast that they felt obliged to stop in 
the hall to collect their thoughts and straighten their faces 
before venturing into the parlor, and while they were 
standing there Cousin Gage’s lively voice reached their 
ears. 

“ I have just one jar of peach preserves saved for Jack, 
and I’m living in deadly fear all the time that the Yankees 
will get here before he does and eat it up,” she was say¬ 
ing. 

It amused the girls so much to hear this when Cousin 
Jack was waiting in the yard that it was the greatest won¬ 
der that they did not betray their errand. But Cousin 
Gage was unsuspecting. 

“ Tired of the shells, my darlings? ” she asked when 
she spied them; “or hungry for dinner? Mammy Rose 


SILVERFOOT 


151 


will give you some tea-cakes if you will ask her, and they 
are good, even if they are sweetened with sorghum.’' 

“ Thank you, ma’am, we don’t want any tea-cakes,” said 
Katherine; “ but we want you to come and see something 
that we’ve got to show you.” 

“ Please, Cousin Gage, it’s grand,” said Sue. 

“ Can’t the rest of us see it, too, Miss Pepper? ” asked 
Cousin Bob. 

“ Not till Cousin Gage sees it,” said Sue, tossing her 
head at the nickname. “ Everybody can see it then.” 

“ Cousin Gage doesn’t want to be running around after 
you children,” protested Aunt Bessie; but Cousin Gage 
would not hear to this. 

“ Of course I want to see what they want to show me,” 
she declared, linking her arm in Caledonia’s. “ Haven’t 
I made play-pretties all my life? 

“ Kitty and I were always making grottos and play¬ 
houses with those shells,” she continued as she went with 
the girls; “ and I never have outgrown liking them.” 

“ You’ll like what we have to show you,” said Sue, in 


152 


SILVERFOOT 


spite of Katherine’s warning look. “ You just wait and 
see if you don’t.” 

When they were almost at the bridal-wreath bush the 
girls stopped. 

“ You have to see it by yourself,” said Katherine a little 
shyly; “ so we won’t go any farther.” 

“ Oh, how mysterious and nice! Are you sure it won’t 
jump out at me? ” said Cousin Gage, peeping around the 
bush with playful caution. 

The girls only waited to hear her cry of astonishment 
and joy, and then ran back to tell the great news at the 
Mansion. They made a perfect medley of it. 

“ Cousin Jack has come-” 

“ He’s the handsomest man-” 

“ He wouldn’t let us tell-” 

“You ought to have heard Cousin Gage scream when 
she saw him-” 

“ He knew who we were the minute he-” 

“ Oh, isn’t it grand? ” 

The family were entirely willing to admit that it was 







SILVERFOOT 


153 


grand, glorious, splendid, or whatever else Sue wished to 
call it; and all of them talked at once, too. 

“ I feel as if we should go home and leave them to them¬ 
selves,” said Grandmother when calm was restored. 

“ No, no! ” cried Cousin Gage, who appeared just then 
leading Cousin Jack by the hand as if she were afraid to 
lose hold of him for a moment. “ I need every one of you 
to help me celebrate this day. 

“ Go, somebody, please, and have the plantation bell 
rung. I want all the negroes to come. 

“ And please call Thomas Jefferson to bring the dogs. 
Jack is wild to see them. 

“ And where is Mammy Rose? ” 

“ Hyer I is,” responded Mammy Rose promptly. 
“ An’ I ain’ gwine let you mek yo’se’f sick, nurther, wid all 
dis yer rej’icin’. Ef Marse Jack can’t mek you set still 
an’ ca’m yo’se’f, I kin.” 

She picked Cousin Gage up in her arms as she spoke and 
put her down in a big rocking-chair beside which she took 
her stand like a loving dragon. 


154 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Marse Jack hed better set down, hisse’f,” she directed 
further. “ An’ Mis’ Lucy an’ de udder folkses, too; ’caze 
dar’s a heap to tell, an’ hit ain’t gwine be tole in a minnit.” 

There was much to tell and to hear, and, this time, the 
little girls were undisturbed listeners. If Caledonia had 
not remembered them just before she went home, late that 
afternoon, the shells from the Indian Ocean would have 
been left in the unfinished grotto. 

Sue and Katherine ran with her to pick them up, and 
Cousin Jack came, too. He selected one of the shells, the 
one that held the sound of the sea, and put it in his pocket 
to remember the girls by. 

“ And I will love you forever, just as I promised,” he 
told them. 

“ Next to our father and Charlie, I think Cousin Jack 
is the nicest man in the world,” said Sue, as she settled 
herself in Cousin Gage’s carriage for the homeward ride. 

“ Dat he is,” said Pomp from his throne on the driver’s 
seat. “ Marse Jack is quality folks. Mis’ Gage wouldn’t 
nebber hev tuck up wid him ef he warn’t dat.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


C OUSIN JACK and the other soldier-visitors 
stayed at home all too short a time, and after they 
had gone the girls found it very hard to settle 
down to every-day life again. 

The glimpse of her father had made Katherine home¬ 
sick, Caledonia drooped in the hot September weather, and 
for once Sue had no plans for interesting adventure. 

“ Let’s ask the first person who comes out here to tell 
us something to do, and promise to do it no matter what 
it is,” she proposed in despair as she and her cousins sat 
listlessly on the front gallery one afternoon. 

“ But suppose it is something terribly dangerous,” ob¬ 
jected Caledonia. 

“ I wouldn’t care,” said Sue. “ I’d like it; but of 
course, if you and Katherine don’t want to have any fun I 
won’t ask anvbody.” 

“ I don’t mind,” said Katherine rousing herself with an 

155 


156 


SILVERFOOT 


effort. “ And you needn’t think, Cousin, that anybody 
will tell us to do dangerous things.” 

“ How do you know? ” challenged Sue at once, but hear¬ 
ing the sound of a step she added hastily: “ Here comes 
the first person now, and we’ll soon see.” 

Even Caledonia sat up expectantly with her eyes upon 
the door, through which, to their great disappointment, 
Cousin Betsy Patrick appeared. 

Still it was interesting to know what Cousin Betsy 
Patrick would suggest, and Sue hastened to put the propo¬ 
sition before her. 

“ Please, Cousin Betsy Patrick, tell us something to do; 
something nice and exciting. We promise—cross our 
hearts and bodies—that we will do just what you say.” 

“ Oh, my dear,” said Cousin Betsy Patrick, “ don’t you 
think that is very strong language for a little girl to use? ” 

“ It’s just fun, Cousin Betsy,” said Katherine coming 
to Sue’s rescue. “ And you will tell us something, won’t 
you? We are so lonely since Father and the others went 
away.” 




SILVERFOOT 


157 


Thus importuned the kind-hearted spinster cousin 
racked her brain for an occupation that was both ladylike 
and interesting. But Cousin Betsy, though a perfect lady 
herself, was never startlingly original. 

“ Why, why don’t you pick flowers? ” she suggested 
hopefully. 

The girls looked at each other without enthusiasm. 
Their ideas of what was nice and exciting certainly did not 
agree with Cousin Betsy Patrick’s. But, of course, they 
would have to keep their agreement. 

“ Thank you, Cousin Betsy,” they murmured politely, 
as the puzzled and rather disturbed lady retreated. 

“ She didn’t say what kind of flowers though,” said Sue 
as soon as she could speak with safety; “ and we can go 
down in the woods, and pick wild flowers. That will be 
some fun.” 

The only creature stirring in the backyard as they 
passed through on their way to the woods was a small red 
rooster. He stood on the kitchen doorstep crowing lustily, 
and Aunt Calline, who was taking a nap on the kitchen- 


158 


SILVERFOOT 


porch, waked up in time to say drowsily, “ Comp’ny’s 
•■> 

comm . 

“What makes you say that, Aunt Calline? ” Sue in¬ 
quired eagerly. “ Did Grandmother tell you so? ” 

“ Whenebber a rooster crow on de do’step, he’s crowin’ 
fer comp’ny,” said Aunt Calline, who was never too sleepy, 
nor too busy, to propound her superstitions. “ I lay some¬ 
body’s gwine be hyer by supper-time.” 

“Well, I hope if anybody does come it will be my 
father,” said Sue. 

“ Or mine,” said Caledonia. 

“ Or Charlie,” said Katherine. She had started to wish 
for her mother but that had seemed selfish when her father 
had just been to see her. “ Wouldn’t Grandmother be 
pleased if he came? ” 

“ And Silverfoot,” added Sue. “ I think he’d be as 
glad as any of us to see Charlie. Then Jim would show 
us the new trick he’s taught him. He isn’t going to let 
anybody see it till Charlie comes. He told Little Fannie 
so to-day.” 


SILVERFOOT 


159 


“ Silverfoot will answer when I whistle to him, just as 
he answers Jim,” said Katherine. “ I tried him two or 
three times when Father was here, and forgot to tell you 
about it.” 

“ You’d better not let Cousin Betsy Patrick hear you 
whistling,” warned Caledonia. “ She says ‘ a whistling 
girl and a crowing hen, are sure to come to some bad end.’ ” 

“ I don’t see why,” said Katherine, “ but, of course, I 
wouldn’t go about whistling like a boy. Whistling to a 
horse is different.” 

“ Of course it is,” cried Sue. “ I believe I’ll go to the 
stables right now and see if he’ll answer me. I mean just 
as soon as we pick Cousin Betsy’s flowers. Do let’s make 
haste and get through with it.” 

There were not many flowers blooming in the woods that 
day, but the few Indian Pinks that they found fired Sue’s 
imagination. 

“ Don’t you wish we had lived long ago when the In¬ 
dians were here? ” she asked her cousins. “ I do. But 
we couldn’t have come to pick flowers then. Father found 


160 


SILVERFOOT 


a broken tomahawk in this very woods when he was a little 
boy and there’s no telling who the Indians had scalped with 
it. Uncle Nor’cross says that he saw an Indian with a 
woman’s scalp at the Battle of Horse-Shoe Bend.” 

“ I hear people talking in the woods,” interrupted Kath¬ 
erine. “ Don’t you girls hear them? Keep still and 
listen. I believe they have horses with them, too.” 

“ I hear them,” said Sue. “ Who can they be, and what 
do you suppose they are doing by our creek? ” 

They stopped behind a clump of bushes uncertain what 
to do, and as they waited a big voice with a decided Irish 
accent rang through the woods. 

“ Oim thinkin’ thot this is the place that the black man— 
the Saints pity him—pointed out, and a foine place it is, 
with room for the tints and wather for the horses.” 

Soldiers in Grandmother’s woods! 

“ Why, they must have torn down the fences and ridden 
through the cornfields to get here,” said Sue. “ Why 
didn’t they come to the house and get us to show them the 


SILVERFOOT 


161 


“ Because they are not our soldiers,” whispered Kath¬ 
erine, her face growing pale. “ They are Yankees. 
Don’t you see their blue coats through the bushes? ” 

“ Himself, manin’ the Major, is goin’ to stay at the 
house with the quare name,” said the voice. “ Twins or 
triplets, which the same I wouldn’t be callin’ a place at all 
if I had one.” 

“ Why, he’s talking about our house! Oh, what shall 
we do? ” cried Caledonia. 

“We must tell Grandmother just as quick as we can,” 
said Katherine. “ Don’t make a noise but run, run! ” 

It was almost unbelievable that they were actually doing 
what they had imagined so often, fleeing from an enemy. 

“ Where shall we hide Silverfoot? ” gasped Sue as they 
went. 

“ Grandmother will know,” answered Katherine. 

But Grandmother did not know. She was the only one 
in the house who was not overwhelmed by the news that the 
girls brought. She collected the silver and other valuables 
and directed Cero, the old trusty butler, to bury them in 


162 


SILVERFOOT 


the garden; and took every precaution that she could think 
of at the moment for the protection of the household. 
But where to hide Silverfoot or the rest of the stock was a 
different matter. 

The Yankees were already in possession of the woods 
and to start Jim to the mountain with Silverfoot when the 
Major or his men were likely to meet them at the big gate 
seemed folly. 

“ I’m afraid we’ll have to lose Silverfoot, but there are 
worse things than losing a horse. Be brave, little girls,” 
Grandmother said. 

For once her granddaughters were not willing to accept 
what Grandmother said as final. No sooner had she left 
them than Sue burst forth into vehement protest. 

“ They sha’n’t have Silverfoot. They sha’n’t! They 
sha’n’t! ” 

“ Couldn’t we hide him in the garden? ” asked Caledonia 
to Sue’s great disgust. 

“ Silverfoot isn’t a spoon nor a necklace,” she began; 
but Katherine interrupted her. 


SILVERFOOT 


163 


“ Cousin is right,” she said. “ Why not in the garden in 
one of the summer-houses? I’m going to ask Grand¬ 
mother.” 

Grandmother’s consent was easily won, not because she 
had any faith in the security of the garden, but because 
any place was better for the horse than the stable. 

“ It will do no harm to try it, but you must not be 
grieved if your plan fails,” she said. 

The girls were too jubilant over their idea to think of 
failure. 

“It is the most wonderful plan that I ever heard of,” 
cried Sue giving Caledonia an appreciative hug. 

Uncle Boss opposed their project; but they had ex¬ 
pected him to do that. 

“ I ain’t gwine let no Yankees teck Silverfoot out’n dis 
stable,” he assured them. 

“ They won’t pay any attention to you, Uncle Boss. 
They’ll take just what they want. And Grandmother 
says we can hide Silverfoot,” Sue insisted. But the old 
man was unyielding. 


164 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Um gwine right on up ter de house an’ talk ter Miss 
Lucy,” he told them; “ an’ don’ one er you chillun go near 
Silverfoot twell I gits back.” 

Time was too precious to heed Uncle Boss’ objections, 
and the girls hardly waited for him to get out of sight be¬ 
fore they rushed into the stables. To their great joy they 
found Rhody’s Jim at Silverfoot’s stall and immediately 
pressed him into service. 

“ He can lead Silverfoot and we can go ahead and watch 
for the Yankees,” said Katherine. “ And do let’s make 
haste.” 

There were four summer-houses in Grandmother’s gar¬ 
den, one for every corner. And each was covered with 
luxuriant vines. Wistaria, in its season, blossomed on one, 
Clematis, or Old Man’s Beard, as the children called it, 
on another. One was a rose arbor, while the latticed sides 
of the fourth were completely hidden by masses of yellow 
and white honeysuckle. 

The girls hastily decided that this one would be the best 
for Silverfoot for two reasons. It was farthest from the 


SILVERFOOT 


165 


gate, and the doorway was screened from curious eyes 
by a great bridal-wreath bush that grew directly in front 
of it. 

“ I don’t believe anybody will ever think of looking for 
a horse here,” Sue declared as Silverfoot, stepping daintily, 
entered his new abode. 

Jim, who felt very important in his position of assistant, 
was as delighted as the girls with the hiding-place. He 
ran back to the stable for a bundle of straw and scattered 
it over the floor to deaden the sound of the horse’s feet; 
and he promised to bring him hay and water every night 
and morning. 

“ I kin come down hyer atter de Yankees is asleep, an’ 
’fo’ dey gits up,” he planned. 

“ But you mustn’t ever come in the daytime,” Katherine 
cautioned him. “ The Yankees might follow you and take 
Silverfoot. Then none of us would ever see him again; 
and Charlie would never get over it.” 

Jim assured them of his reliability. 

“ Um gwine on ter de stable right now, an’ stay wid 


166 


SILVERFOOT 


Rock an’ Rye. I ’spects de Yankees’ll tink dem’s all de 
hosses us-all’s got,” he said. 

This seemed reasonable to the girls and they hurried 
from the garden, themselves, well satisfied with all their 
arrangements. 

Little Fannie met them at the gate with a great piece of 
news. 

“ Dar’s a Yankee at de front do’,” she cried breathlessly. 
“ Miss Lucy’s out dar talkin’ ter ’im. I ’lowed I’d better 
come tell you chillun.” 

The girls ran to the house and up the steps to the back 
porch, where a group of the servants stood listening to 
Candace tell of her experience with the Yankee, whom she 
had been the first to see. 

“ Miss Lucy hed done sont me ter de parler ter fetch 
her little silver basket, an’ ’fo’ I could git dar he wuz plum’ 
at de hall do’. ‘ Whar’s de lady er de house? ’ he say; but 
I knowd I warn’ gwine tell ’im miffin’. I des tuck an’ run 
ter Miss Lucy.” 

“ I ’low Miss Lucy’ll frustrate ’im,” said Chess-Ann, 


SILVERFOOT 


167 


tossing her head. “ Miss Lucy ain’t gwine let no Yankee 
walk ober her.” 

“ Mammy Selie say de Yankees is come fer us-all,” said 
another young negro, giggling at the thought. “ An’ she 
say dey’s got ter tote her ef dey takes her.” 

Interesting as this conversation was, the girls would not 
linger to hear more of it. They were too anxious to see 
the Yankee with their own eyes, but to their great dis¬ 
appointment, Cero was the only occupant of the hall when 
they slipped in. They tiptoed cautiously toward him, cast¬ 
ing apprehensive glances in the direction of the parlor 
where they supposed the enemy must be. 

“ Where is the Y-A-N-K-E-E ? ” spelled Sue, for¬ 
getting in her desire to be discreet that the guest un¬ 
doubtedly could spell, while Cero had no such accomplish¬ 
ment. He understood her, though. All questions meant 
Yankees to him just then. 

“ Dar’s one,” he said pointing to an orderly who was 
waiting under the twin oaks with two horses. “ An’ de 
ossifer, he’s gone ter smoke his seegar in de gyarden.” 


168 


SILVERFOOT 


“ In the garden! ” repeated the girls in a dismal chorus, 
their faces growing pale at this unforeseen and altogether 
alarming turn of affairs. 

“ Hit’s des lak Um tellin’ you,” said Cero calmly. 
“ Miss Lucy tole ’im ter res’ hisse’f in de parler twell his 
room’s ready, but he axed her, please ma’am, could he 
smoke in de gyarden. He’s powerful fond er flowers, he 
say. Miss Lucy look lak she didn’t much want ’im down 
dar, but she’s sont Embrey ter show ’im de way. Dey’s 
des gone ’roun’ de house.” 

The girls did not wait to hear more. With one accord 
they fled through the hall, down the back steps and to the 
garden gate, though what they were going to do they could 
not have told. 

When the middle-aged officer, he was a major in rank, 
escorted by Embrey, reached the gate he was confronted 
by three of the most determined little foes south of the 
Mason and Dixon line, though he did not know it. He 
greeted them pleasantly enough: 

“ Good afternoon, little ladies; ” and as Sue raised her 


SILVERFOOT 


169 


hostile eyes to his, he added, “ I’ve a little blue-eyed girl 
of my own at home.” 

“ My eyes are grey, sir,” cried Sue, ready to do battle 
for the South and Silverfoot on the spot. But Katherine 
opened the gate and ushered the Major into the garden 
without delay. 

“ There’s a bench under the mimosa-tree and that’s 
where my father and Uncle Henry smoked when they were 
at home. It’s cool down there,” she said, directing him to 
the spot farthest from Silverfoot’s retreat. 

“ It wouldn’t do any good to quarrel with him, and we 
mustn’t let him know that we don’t want him in the garden. 
He’d suspect something right away. That’s the reason 
Grandmother had to let him come,” she explained to her 
cousins as they retired to a safe distance to watch develop¬ 
ments. 

Every movement that the Major made filled them with 
terror. If he stopped to admire the tiger-lilies that blazed 
along the garden walks, they felt certain that he was sus¬ 
pecting their secret. If he turned his head to listen to the 


170 


SILVERFOOT 


mocking-birds singing in the orchard, they knew that he 
was on the edge of the dreaded discovery. And just as he 
reached the bench under the mimosa, and they were about 
to breathe freely once more, a low whinny came from the 
summer-house. Silverfoot was announcing his presence 
in the garden gently but clearly. 

They had no hope that the Major had not heard the 
sound and recognized it; anybody would have done that. 
And they understood for the first time exactly what 
Cousin Betsy Patrick meant when she talked about people 
“ giving up.” 

“ I’m not going to see him take Silverfoot, though,” 
cried Sue. “ I’m going to shut my eyes and keep them 
shut. You-all can watch if you want to.” 

“ But he hasn’t gone for him yet, Sue,” said Katherine. 
“ He’s just sitting there on the bench. And I do believe 
one of the Confederate kittens is there, too. Yes it is, and 
he’s picking it up and putting it on his knee.” 

“Oh, is he?” said Sue opening her eyes in haste. 
“ Well, that is a joke.” 


SILVERFOOT 


171 


All three of them began to relax and giggle. It seemed 
so amusing to them for a Confederate kitten to be sitting 
on a Yankee officer’s knee. 

“ Maybe he’s the company that Aunt Calline thought 
the rooster was crowing for,” suggested Caledonia. 

“ I don’t call a Yankee company,” said Sue; “ but any¬ 
way I’d like to know his little girl’s name. I believe I’ll 
ask him when he comes out of the garden, that is I will if 
he doesn’t get Silverfoot.” 

So when the Major, who had been deep in his own 
thoughts, none of which were connected with horses, 
strolled by the bright lilies to the gate again, he found the 
girls waiting for him. 

“ Please, sir, will you tell us your little girl’s name? ” 
asked Sue as amiably as if there were no war between the 
North and South. And the Major, pleased with her 
friendly tone, smiled at her as he answered: 

“Alice; and I’ve just been wishing that she had as 
beautiful a garden as yours to play in.” 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


W HILE the Yankees were at Twin Oaks Kath¬ 
erine wrote a long letter full of interesting news 
to her mother. 


“ Dear Mother: 

“ The Yankees are here. They came yesterday 
and some of them are camping down by the creek near 
the Cave. Sue and Cousin and I were the first to know 
they were there and we flew to tell Grandmother. 

“ There are some over at Cousin Gage’s, and Mr. Will 
Barton’s, and everywhere else. 

“ They have taken all of our chickens and guineas, ex¬ 
cept an old guinea hen that is off somewhere on her nest. 

“ The day they came the little red rooster crowed for 
company, at least Aunt Calline said he did; and now the 
Yankees have eaten him up. Cousin cries every time she 
thinks about it. 

“ They have taken the cows and mules and the last pig, 
but they haven’t gotten Rock and Rye yet. Aunt Vir¬ 
ginia thinks it is because they are too old and fat. I mean 
Rock and Rye. 

“ The soldiers don’t come to the house because their 
Major won’t let them. He is staying here and we think 
we should like him if he were not a Yankee. He has a 
little daughter with blue eyes. 

172 


SILVERFOOT 


173 


“ He thought Sue’s eyes were blue and it made her 
dreadfully angry. She says if her eyes were blue like the 
Yankees’ coats she would dye them grey. You know 
how funny Sue is. 

“ She and Cousin and I have a wonderful secret, but 
Grandmother says it is best not to tell secrets in letters. 

“ We hope the Yankees are going away soon, maybe 
to-morrow. They are on their way somewhere, we don’t 
know where, and are just resting here. Cousin Betsy 
Patrick thinks worse will come, but Grandmother doesn’t. 

“ Sue is calling me, and I shouldn’t be surprised if 
something else has happened. If it has I’ll write another 
letter soon. 

“ I wish you all were here. 

“ Your loving daughter, 

“ Katherine Beverly Carroll.” 


Something had happened or was going to happen; some¬ 
thing so hard to believe that Katherine wouldn’t believe it 
when Sue first told her about it. 

Some of Grandmother’s negroes were going away with 
the Yankees; at least they were talking about it. The 
overseer had just come to the house to tell Grandmother. 

“ She isn’t going to try to get them to stay,” Sue re¬ 
ported. “ She says she’s taken the best care of them that 


174 


SILVERFOOT 


she could and has been just as kind to them as she knew 
how to be, but if they want to go, they must.” 

“But who wants to go?” asked Katherine incredu¬ 
lously. 

“ Mandy’s one. Little Fannie says she’s down at the 
quarters shouting to the other negroes and if we climb up 
on the chicken-house roof we can see her. I thought you 
never would come! ” said Sue. 

The “ Quarters,” where the negroes lived, was a long 
line of whitewashed cabins, each with a morning-glory 
or gourd vine over the door and a bunch of prince’s 
feathers or perhaps a clump of marigolds by the step. 
The girls thought it was the pleasantest place on the plan¬ 
tation. They were always begging Mammy Selie to take 
them to visit down there. 

Only the week before they had gone to carry Mandy 
some calico pieces for her Wild-Goose-Chase quilt, and 
they thought of this as they scrambled up on the chicken- 
house to see this new strange Mandy who wanted to go 
away with Yankees. 


SILVERFOOT 


175 


All the negroes in the Quarters were out listening to 
her; the older ones standing a little apart in a group to 
themselves and the younger ones crowded about the ex¬ 
cited woman. 

“Um gwine ter Freedom! Glory! Glory! ” she 
shouted. “ Who’s gwine wid me ter de Promised Lan’? ” 

Nobody answered her, but there was a stir in the crowd 
which showed how agitated the listeners were. 

“ I ain’ nebber gwine work no mo’,” proclaimed Mandy 
waving her arms above her head. “ Glory! Glory! ” 

“Who’s gwine feed you, gal?” called some one de¬ 
risively. 

Mandy was turning on the speaker fiercely, when 
another woman threw her hands up to attract attention. 

“ I sees Brer Nor’cross. I calls fer prayer,” she cried, 
in a shrill voice. 

As the old preacher drew near one voice after another 
took up the cry: “We calls fer prayer!” And answer¬ 
ing the plea as simply as it was made, Brer Nor’cross 
bowed his head and spoke out fervently: 


176 


SILVERFOOT 


“ Good Lawd, You saved Noah an’ his chillun out’n de flood; 

An’ Dan’l out’n de line’s den. 

An’ dem three boys frum de fiery furmiss; 

An’ me an’ ole Marster frum de Injuns; 

Don’t fergit us-all an’ Miss Lucy. 

Fetch us safe out’n dis yer Wah. 

Let de rowin’ line an’ de tender lam’ lay down tergedder right 
now; 

An’ bress de black sheep and de white, fer Marse Christ’s sake. 

Amen.” 


“ Amen,” echoed his audience. 

The Lord always seemed very near when Brer Nor’cross 
prayed, and it was both comforting and soothing to the 
disturbed negroes to hear of their old acquaintances, Noah, 
and Daniel, and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the 
fiery furnace, when they were confronted by so many new 
and bewildering problems. Besides the allusion to “ Miss 
Lucy ” had touched them deeply. What would she do 
without them if they should go away? 

“ I ain’ gwine nowhar ter nuffin’,” said the same negro 
who had challenged Mandy. “ I’se gwine let Freedom 
come to me, I is.” 


SILVERFOOT 


177 


There was a general laugh at this and the groups, es¬ 
pecially the one of older folks began to scatter. They 
were contented to stay at home and wait for whatever good 
the Lord might send. And, though Mandy still had a 
following, there was no more loud talking at the Quarters. 
Brer Nor’cross had calmed the troubled waters for the 
evening. 

The girls climbed down from their perch, quieted, too, 
but still puzzled. 

“ Do you want to go? ” they asked Little Fannie. 

“ Who, me? ” said that high and mighty damsel. 
“ Lawdy no, I ain’t got no notion er gwine nowhar ’cept in 
dat nus’ry to sing my baby-chile ter sleep. Ain’t dat him 
crying fer F’ower now? ” 

She hurried into the house and presently they heard her 
singing a song which was a great favorite with the black 
folks: 

u Ole grey mare come out er de wiPerness, 

Out er de wiPerness, out er de wil’erness, 

Ole grey mare come out er de wiPerness, 

Leanin’ on de Lam’.” 


178 


SILVERFOOT 


It sounded very doleful to the girls as they lingered on 
the gallery to talk things over. “ I wish she wouldn’t 
sing,” said Sue mournfully. “ I never was so miserable 
in all my life. I think Mandy ought to be ashamed 
of herself, planning to leave Grandmother and trying to 
get the others to go.” 

“ I gave her some of my prettiest quilt-pieces, some that 
I wanted to keep for myself, and now I don’t suppose 
she’ll ever finish her quilt,” complained Caledonia. 

“ What I’m most afraid of,” said Katherine, “ is that 
they’ll go off and get sick and have nobody to take care of 
them.” 

“ Mandy says she’s going to ride in a gold chariot. 
Little Fannie heard her say it, just before she called us to 
go to the chicken-house,” said Caledonia. 

The girls had to laugh at the thought of Mandy in a 
chariot; and immediately grew more hopeful. 

“ I don’t believe she’ll go with the Yankees. She’s just 
talking,” said Sue. “ And, anyway, as long as S. F. is 
safe we ought not to worry about anything else.” 


SILVERFOOT 


179 


Their efforts to hide Silverfoot had been a glorious suc¬ 
cess so far. The quietest, least-disturbed spot on the 
plantation had been the garden. The Major was too busy 
to indulge his love for flowers, and the late peaches and 
pears in Grandmother’s orchard were much more attrac¬ 
tive to his men than posies. 

Then, too, their stay at Twin Oaks was only a temporary 
arrangement. The overseer felt certain that they were 
planning to move on, perhaps the very next day; and the 
fact that Mandy talked so openly about leaving encour- 
aged this belief. 

And as soon as the way was clear, Silverfoot should go 
to Shattuck’s Cove to stay till the war was over. Every¬ 
body was in agreement about that. No more risks for 
Silverfoot. 

Still the excitement of hiding him and the experiences 
connected with it had afforded the girls a great deal of 
pleasure in spite of their anxiety. 

“ As long as I live I’ll remember how I felt when Silver¬ 
foot whinnied. Won’t Charlie shout when we tell him 


180 


SILVERFOOT 


about it? ” continued Sue growing lively at the recollec¬ 
tion. 

“ Oh, do be careful, Sue,” whispered Katherine. “You 
don’t know who might be listening. I hear a noise behind 
the bushes right now.” 

Her cousins were always cautioning Sue, so it seemed 
to her. Just as if she were not every bit as anxious as 
they were to keep their secret. 

“ If I can’t even speak on my own grandmother’s porch 
I’ll go in the house,” she said with offended dignity. And 
she was rising to carry out her threat when a husky whisper 
came out of the darkness. 

“ Is de Yankees dar? ” 

“ Why, how funny,” cried Sue, her indignation for¬ 
gotten. “ I thought everybody on the plantation knew 
about the Yankees.” 

“ I’m going to ask who it is,” said Katherine, but before 
she could say another word her question was answered. 

“ Hit’s me,—Isaac.” 

Then Charlie must be somewhere near! This was the 


SILVERFOOT 


181 


first thought that came to the girls. They could not im¬ 
agine Isaac coming home without Charlie. 

“ Oh, won’t Grandmother be pleased? ” said Sue. 
“ She’s in the library and so are Mother and Aunt Vir¬ 
ginia. Let’s take Isaac there before we tell them a word 
about his being here.” 

“ If he can get in the house without the Yankees seeing 
him,” said Katherine. “ The Major’s gone to town, but the 
soldiers are at the big gate and all around the place. I 
wonder how Isaac got by them.” 

“ Ef de Yankees ain’t dar, I’se cornin’ on in,” said Isaac 
from his hiding-place. “ Dey ain’t gwine notice nuffin’ ef 
us don’ mak no noise.” 

The girls scarcely dared to breathe after this, though 
it was hard to keep quiet when Isaac reached the porch. 
A dozen questions sprang into their minds, but they did 
not dare to stop for questions when the Major might 
come back at any minute. 

“ Hurry! Hurry! ” urged Sue tiptoeing ahead of the 
others to fling open the library door. 


182 SILVERFOOT 

In the excitement it did not occur to her nor her cousins 
that there was anything alarming in Isaac’s sudden ap¬ 
pearance. It was only when they saw the horror-stricken 
faces of their elders that they realized what his coming 
might mean. They never afterwards forgot the fear that 
swept over them, nor the relief that came when Isaac cried 
out hastily: 

“ Marse Charlie ain’t daid, Miss Lucy. He say I mus’ 
tell you dat de fust t’ing. He ain’t daid, an’ he ain’t 
aimin’ ter die, but he’s hurt.” 

He looked around as he spoke in a kind of bewilderment 
as if he could not believe that he was at home; and his 
audience looked at him with equal astonishment. Was 
this tired, ashen-faced man the lively Isaac who had ridden 
away so jubilantly with Charlie? 

“ Tell us how it happened. Tell us everything! ” said 
Grandmother clasping her trembling hands and trying to 
be calm. 

“ To’ de Lawd hit warn’ my fault,” cried Isaac. “ I 
tole Marse Charlie ter keep away frum dat skirmish. 


SILVERFOOT 


183 


‘ Yo’ ma don’ want you roun’ hyer,’ I say, but dar warn’t 
no stoppin’ ’im. He des fit dem Yankees up an’ down 
de ro’d twell him an’ de rest er our boys moughty nigh 
run ’em home. Yassum, Mis’ Lucy, he done fine twell 
z-z-z a little bullet come long des lak a honey-bee, an’, de 
nex’ t’ing I knowd, Marse Charlie hed done fell off de 
roan spang on de groun’. I hollered out moughty quick 
den: 

“ ‘ Hole on dar, Marse Charlie’s hurt! ’ but dey didn’t 
pay no ’tenshun ter me; no, ma’am, Miss Lucy. I hed ter 
run in an’ fetch Marse Charlie right fru dem bullets, an’ 
I didn’ know no mo’ whar ter teck ’im dan a jay-bird. 

“ I looked dis way an’ dat way, an’, byme-by, the smoke 
kinder clear, an’ I seed a little path fru de trees on one 
side; an’ I follered hit. Every once en a while I stopped 
an’ eased Marse Charlie on my shoulder. 

“ ‘ Don’ you go die, Marse Charlie,’ I say. 4 Miss Lucy’s 
lookin’ fer me ter fetch you home safe.’ An’ Marse 
Charlie he ’low he won’t ef he kin holp it. 

“ ‘ Kin you hole out ter go a little piece farther, Marse 


184 SILVERFOOT 

Charlie?’ I ax; an 5 Marse Charlie he say, ‘A little 

piece.’ 

“ Byme-by we’se a good way frum de skirmish an’ 
Marse Charlie lay moughty still. I sho’ wuz skeered. 

“ ‘ Marse Charlie, baby, is you daid? ’ I say; an’ Marse 
Charlie he gin a little grunt, but he gin it powerful weak. 

“ Hit war ’bout den dat I seed a little spring cornin’ 
frum unner a big rock in de woods, an’ I lay Marse Charlie 
down on some grass an’ lit out fer water. Yassum, Miss 
Lucy, I brung some water in his cap an’ poured hit in his 
face; an’ Marse Charlie he open his eyes. 

“ I didn’ see no house roun’ dar nowhar, but des ez I 
wuz wroppin’ up Marse Charlie’s shoulder whar dat pesky 
little bullet hit ’im, a ole gem’mun wid white mus’tasses 
come fru de bushes. 

“ ‘ Is dem Yankees whipped? ’ he ax soon ez he seed me. 
I ’lowed I didn’ know dat, but I did know Marse Charlie’s 
hurt; an’ whar’s I gwine teck ’im? 

Ter my house. Whar else? ’ he say, ‘ ter my house, 
an’ my wife’ll nuss ’im lak he wuz her own son.’ An’ dat 


SILVERFOOT 


185 


des whut she done. I fotched Marse Charlie ter dere big 
house, an’ dat lady sho’ is nussin’ ’im fine. 

“ I wouldn’t er lef’ ’im, dough, ’cept’ he sont me ter fetch 
de word ter you. ‘ I ’low she’ll want to come an’ I wants 
her moughty bad, but don’ you sheer ’er, Isaac.’ Dat’s des 
whut he say; an’ I’se come clean ’cross de mount’in fer ter 
git you.” 

As he ended his story his listeners crowded around him 
with words of thanks and praise, all of which he received 
with a childlike delight. 

“ I tole Mis’ Lucy dat I wuz gwine teck keer er Marse 
Charlie,” he said again and again. 

The little girls ran to summon Aunt Calline to the li¬ 
brary, but they did not try to surprise her. They had 
had enough of surprises for that night. 

“ Grandmother says Isaac is a hero; aren’t you glad, 
Aunt Calline? ” asked Sue, after they had broken the news 
of his coming, and given her a hasty version of his story. 

“ Dat I is,” said Aunt Calline; “ I’se glad, but I ain’t 
’stonished none. Isaac allers has been moughty peart.” 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


T HE little girls sat up beyond their bedtime that 
night, and no one remonstrated with them nor 
mentioned beauty sleep to them, not even Mammy 

Selie. 

The whole household was busy with plans as to how and 

when Grandmother could go to Charlie. If the Yankees 

left without taking Rock and Rye she could make the 

whole journey in her own carriage, even though she would 

have to travel slowly and stop often to rest. If, at the last 

moment, the old horses were seized, perhaps others might 

be borrowed, though there was great doubt as to this. The 

neighbors had lost as heavily as Grandmother. But, if 

worse came to worse, Grandmother said she would send 

Jim on Silver foot to ask Mr. Shattuck’s assistance. 

“ It will not harm me to ride in an ox-wagon,” she de- 

186 


SILVERFOOT 


187 


dared bravely, though her daughters-in-law were aghast 
at the thought of such an arrangement. 

“ Now see,” Sue whispered to her cousins; “if Uncle 
Boss had let us ride Silver foot, like I begged to do, Grand¬ 
mother could have ridden him now.” 

“ Oh, I don’t think so,” said Katherine, “ and she 
couldn’t have gone by herself.” 

Sue would have argued this if a suggestion from one of 
the aunts had not caught her ear just then. 

“ If the Yankees do not leave, what will you do, Grand¬ 
mother? It is more than likely that they will not let you 
go, I am afraid.” 

Sue was up in arms at once. 

“ The idea of Yankees keeping Grandmother from do¬ 
ing anything she wants to do! Does she have to ask 
them? ” she burst forth indignantly. 

“ I may have to ask,” said Grandmother; “ but I cannot 
believe that a man like the Major, who has a child of his 
own, would keep a mother from going to her son.” 

The rest of the family looked doubtful and grave over 


188 


SILVERFOOT 


the situation but nobody said a word to discourage Grand¬ 
mother, with the exception of Sue’s mother, who could not 
resist expressing her opinion: 

“ Well, all I can say is that I hope you are not mistaken 
in the Major, Mother.” 

“ At all events, Grandmother must get ready to go,” 
said Aunt Virginia quickly, “ and I’m going to tear up all 
my old muslin skirts for bandages for Charlie.” 

Preparations for Grandmother’s journey went on very 
smoothly after this, and the household stores were ran¬ 
sacked for comforts for the wounded boy. Every now 
and then some one would come into Grandmother’s room, 
where the packing was done, with something to be tucked 
into her valise. Cousin Betsy Patrick made a pad from 
an old pillow, another cousin brought out a bottle of black¬ 
berry cordial that she had kept for emergencies, and 
Caledonia made haste to finish a pair of socks that only 
needed a few stitches. Even if Charlie did not par¬ 
ticularly need socks just then, it was nice to send him a 
present. 


SILVERFOOT 


189 


Sue and Katherine wished that they had presents for 
him too. They examined all their possessions hopefully, 
but it did seem absurd to send what they called “ girl- 
things ” to a soldier. 

“ But he’ll be pleased when Grandmother tells him that 
Silverfoot is safe,” said Katherine; “ and all of us helped 
in that.” 

“ Yes, and I know what we can send him, I’ve just 
thought,” cried Sue enthusiastically. “ A lock of Silver- 
foot’s mane. Don’t you think it will be a perfectly splen¬ 
did present? ” 

“ Splendid! ” echoed her cousins, and in spite of the fact 
that the Major had returned and they must be cautious, 
they caught hold of hands and danced around in a shadowy 
corner of the hall. 

Their spirits would have had a sudden fall, however, if 
they could have peeped into the Yankees’ camp at that 
very moment and heard some of the conversation and 
laughter there. 

The center of merriment was Jim, Silverfoot’s guardian 


190 


SILVERFOOT 


and Uncle Boss’s right-hand man; or at least so he liked 
to think himself. From the first Jim had been a favorite 
with a certain group of young Federal soldiers who de¬ 
lighted in leading him on in his boasting of the Carroll 
family and their possessions. Especially did they take 
pleasure in hearing him tell of horses and his wonderful 
skill in handling them. It was upon this subject that he 
was holding forth on the evening of Isaac’s return. 

He could ride any horse anywhere, yes, sirree! Why, 
he had ridden through the creek when it was up so high 
that his horse had to swim! 

“ Which horse was that, Sambo? ” inquired one of 
his listeners; “ the black-tailed roan, or the white-faced 
grey that ‘ Marse Dick rid to the Wah ’ ? ” 

Jim was not pleased at being called Sambo. 

“ Sambo’s Marse Bill Barton’s nigger,” he said a little 
sullenly. “ Des hyer’s Jim; an’ hit warn’t no white-faced 
grey dat Marse Dick rid. Hit wuz a flea-bit grey. 
Marse Dick paid his hat full er money fer dat hoss up ter 
Nashville. He measured de money des dat way.” 


SILVERFOOT 


191 


“ How much money was in the hat, a thousand dollars? ” 
asked another young soldier, winking at his companions as 
he spoke. 

“ Mo’an dat,” said Jim, who had little or no idea of 
money. “ I specks dar wuz two, three t’ousands in dat 
hat.” 

“ Greenbacks or silver? ” asked the teasing boy. 

“ Silver dollars,” affirmed Jim solemnly. 

“ Don’t you know you couldn’t put two or three thou¬ 
sand silver dollars in a man’s hat? ” said a serious-faced 
young New Englander. 

“ I didn’t say none er y’all could git no two three 
t’ousand dollars in yo’ hat,” said Jim. “ I’se talkin’ ’bout 
Marse Dick’s hat.” 

“ Well, I can show you a horse that will beat any horse 
you’ve ever seen,” said a Kentucky boy who had ridden 
into camp with an order for the Major late that afternoon, 
and who was just making Jim’s acquaintance. “ You 
wait here till I get back.” 

“ He can’t bear to think of a horse outside of Kentucky 


192 


SILVERFOOT 


selling for two or three thousand dollars,” laughed one of 
his comrades. “ He and Jim are neck and neck when it 
comes to bragging about horses.” 

Jim stirred uneasily in his place for, though he had never 
been far from Twin Oaks, he had heard of Kentucky 
horses. And when the young fellow returned leading a 
slender-limbed, satiny chestnut-bay, the negro’s eyes grew 
large with unwilling admiration. 

The horse’s master, who cared more for Jim’s opin¬ 
ion than the others dreamed of, took note of this ad¬ 
miration with much satisfaction. 

“ What did I tell you? ” he said. “ Can the flea-bitten 
grey or the roan hold a candle to him? ” 

Jim would have liked to deny that the horse was extra¬ 
ordinary in any way, but to do this would have proven him¬ 
self a poor judge of horses, and he was shrewd enough to 
know it. 

Before he answered he looked the horse over carefully, 
and as he looked he began to brighten up. 

“ Hit’s done got de roan an’ de grey beat all ter pieces, 


SILVERFOOT 


193 


but hit don’ hole no candle ter Silverfut,” Jim de¬ 
clared, proudly. 

This was the first time he had ever mentioned Silver foot, 
and his hearers laughed and applauded what they thought 
was the negro’s ingenuity. 

“ Hurrah for you, Jim. You’ve got Ananias and all 
the other fib-tellers beat,” cried one of them. “ Go on and 
tell us all about it. What kind of a horse is Silverfoot? ” 

“ He’s black ez a coal ’cep’n’ one white fut an’ dar ain’t 
anur hoss lak him dis side er Nashville,” replied Jim quot¬ 
ing Uncle Boss as usual with great exactness. “ An’ he 
kin do tricks. He knows what his name is des ez well ez 
anybody; an’ he kin answer when I whistles ter ’im; an’ 
kneel down. I larned ’im dat.” 

“ Who ‘ rid ’ Silverfoot to the War? ” inquired the 
private who led in asking all the questions. 

Jim was no little disconcerted by this question, but he 
was saved the necessity of answering by the serious New 
Englander, who felt it his duty to interfere just then. 

“ The boy must learn to speak the truth sometimes,” he 


194 


SILVERFOOT 


remonstrated. “ Come, Jim, you know there’s no such 
horse as Silverfoot, and so do we.” 

“ Dar ain’t, ain’t dar? ” cried Jim excitedly. “ You 
des set still an’ I’ll show you.” 

Before his astonished audience grasped his meaning he 
had darted from the camp and was running through the 
woods as if the patrollers were at his heels. 

“ Do you think he has actually gone for a horse? ” asked 
one of the group left behind. 

“ Nonsense,” cried another. “ He’s running away be¬ 
cause he sees he can’t fool us any more to-night. But he’s 
a sharp one. If he had tried a year he couldn’t have found 
a better name for a horse than Silverfoot.” 

“ Well, I certainly hope that if he has a horse he’ll not 
bring it here,” said the owner of the chestnut-bay. “ I 
should feel as if it were all my fault.” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself. If there ever was a Silverfoot 
he’s not within ten miles of us. Where could they hide 
him? We have been all over the place,” an older man 
assured him. 


SILVERFOOT 


195 


“ Let’s change the subject,” suggested another. “ If 
the Sergeant gets wind of it he’ll have us scouring the 
country all night long in search of an imaginary horse. 
I’m ready for bed.” 

Meanwhile Jim was hurrying toward the garden full of 
his purpose to show 4 4 dem boys ” what a fine horse really 
was. He had lost sight of everything else but this, and 
as he scurried around the house he mumbled to himself: 

“ I lay dey’ll open dere eyes when dey sees Silverfut.” 

The only apprehension that he felt was with regard to 
Uncle Boss who might interfere with his plan if he sus¬ 
pected it; and, to avoid any chance of this, Jim led Silver- 
foot from the garden into the orchard. 

44 Hit’s de longest way ’roun’ but de safes’,” he ex¬ 
plained to the horse as they went. 44 Ef Uncle Boss seed me 
leadin’ you ’bout he’d sho’ git me. An’ sence he’s done 
tuck a notion ter sleep in de stable wid Rock an’ Rye dar 
ain’t no tellin’ when he’s gwine ter pop out. I ain’t aimin’ 
fer nobody ter know we’se gone twell we gits back, 
nurther. Dem boys ain’t gwine ter do us-all no harm. 


196 


SILVERFOOT 


Um gwine teck you right on down dar fru dat gap dey’s 
made in de fence cornin’ after Miss Lucy’s peaches. 

“ Now don’ you git stubry when you gits dar,” he con¬ 
tinued. “ When I says ‘ Whut’s yo’ name? ’ you lif’ yo’ 
foot, you hyear me? Who-a dar! Don’ go so fas’. 
You’ll wake de whole place up. 

“ Here’s de gap in de fence an’ you gotter be keerful. 
Marse Charlie don’ want you to git no nails in yo’ foot¬ 
sies. Now den we’se in de lane.” 

Just as Silverfoot stepped through the gap a bugle 
sounded from the woods. The horse started at the sound 
and so did Jim. 

“ Dem boys’ll be sleep ef us don’ mek hase,” he said, 
for he had learned the ways of the Camp. “ Come ’long 
hyer.” 

In spite of his haste, however, the camp was quiet when 
he and Silverfoot arrived at the spot where his friends had 
sat. And as he stood there uncertain what to do a guard 
challenged him. “ Halt! Who is’t? Spake out! ” 

“ Hit’s des me, wid Silverfut,” answered Jim. 



J[M LED SlLVERFOOT FROM THE GARDEN INTO THE ORCHARD.- 

Page 195 





SILVERFOOT 


197 


“ Sure,” said the guard striking a light and taking a 
look at the pair of them. “ Sure an’ ’tis welcome ye are, 
me foine boy, an’ the pretty crathur, too. Come in.” 

He was a great jolly Irishman with whom Jim had no 
acquaintance, and the negro began to be alarmed. 

“ I ain’t gwine in nowhar,” he said, backing away. 
“ Me an’ Silverfut’s gwine on home, we is.” 

“ Not so fast,” said the guard laying his hand on the 
horse’s halter. “ I’ll not be detainin’ you forninst your 
will, but as for Silverfoot, ’tis not for the loike of him to 
belong to the Rebels.” 

Jim’s little world began to whirl about him but he clung 
to Silverfoot. 

“ Will ye go, or will ye stay? ” asked the Irishman 
politely. “ ’Tis freedom ye’ll get if you come with us and 
Oim thinkin’ ’twill be a plaisure to ye.” 

But Jim was not thinking of freedom. 

“ Um gwine whar Silverfut’s gwine,” he sobbed, follow¬ 
ing his beloved charge into the Camp. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


A T the very first peep of light on the next morning 
the girls slipped out of the house to get the lock of 
Silverfoot’s mane. 

“ I’ve been awake for the longest time making rhymes 
to send with it,” said Sue, who, armed with Grandmother’s 
shears, led the way. “ I’ll tell them all to you and you 
can say which you like best. 

44 4 This comes from Katherine and Sue 
With heaps and heaps of love for you.’ 

“ That sounds just like a valentine, don’t you think so? 
And the next one is mysterious: 

44 4 Although our gift is black as night, 

’Twill be to you a welcome sight.’ 

“ And I’ve made a riddle too: 

44 4 As fine as silk, as black as ink, • •- .. » . 

What is our present, do you think? 5 ” 


SILVERFOOT 


199 


“ I’d send the last one,” said Katherine. “ Charlie likes 
riddles. He asked me one the very day he went off: 

“ 4 First it’s white, and then it’s red, 

Lives two days and then it’s dead.’ 

The answer is a cotton bloom. I think yours is every 
bit as good as that one.” 

“ I like it myself,” Sue admitted modestly. “ And I’ve 
made a rhyme for Cousin’s present too: 


44 4 Here are socks that Callie knit. 

She hopes that they will nicely fit.’ ” 

“ I don’t see how you can think of so many rhymes and 
riddles,” said Caledonia admiringly. 

“ Oh, it’s easy when you try,” said Sue. “ I’ve almost 
made another riddle right now, but I haven’t time to finish 
it. Just suppose the Major should wake up and look out 
of the window and see us, and come to find out what we are 
doing. • Wouldn’t that be awful? We must hurry.” 

There was not a sound of Silverfoot to be heard as they 
approached the summer-house,, but the girls were chatter- 


/ 


200 


SILVERFOOT 


ing too busily to notice this. Sue, who was still in advance 
of her cousins, had thrust her head through the honey¬ 
suckle vines that curtained the doorway with a gay, “ Good 
morning, Silverfoot,” before she realized that the arbor 
was empty; and even then she found it hard to grasp the 
sorrowful truth. 

“ Why, I don’t see him! ” she cried, turning in dismay 
to meet Katherine and Sue. “ Where do you suppose he 
can be? Oh, you don’t think the Yankees have taken him, 
do you? ” 

“ Perhaps he has gotten out and gone back to the 
stables,” suggested Katherine, catching at a forlorn hope. 
“ The garden gate was open, don’t you remember? I’m 
going to look for him, anyway.” 

But though they searched wildly in every nook and 
corner of the stables, and orchard and garden, they felt 
all the while that their efforts were useless. 

“ I’d like to know what Grandmother is going to tell 
Charlie now,” sobbed Sue. “ I think it is a perfect shame 
and I know that horrid Major was the one who did it. I 


SILVERFOOT 


201 


wish I never had asked him anything about his little girl’s 
name; and I never, never, never will speak to him again.” 

By the time Katherine and Caledonia had persuaded her 
to go into the house she had cried herself to the verge of 
hysteria, and, much to her disgust and despair, was put to 
bed by her anxious mother, and dosed with one of Aunt 
Calline’s famous teas. 

The older people were almost as distressed as the girls 
when they heard of the loss of Silverfoot, though it was no 
more than might have been expected at such a time, they 
said. 

“ But it does seem as if everything happens at once,” 
deplored Sue’s mother. “ Charlie wounded, Grandmother 
worried to death, and now Silverfoot stolen. I wish you 
had selected some other day to stir yourself up, Sue. 
There never is any use in crying over spilt milk, and I 
could have told you from the very first that there was no 
hope of saving the horse.” 

She moved about the room nervously, admonished Sue 
to be quiet, and then left her to the care of Katherine and 


202 


SILVERFOOT 


Caledonia who had been hovering tearfully in the back¬ 
ground all the while. 

As soon as the door closed behind her, Katherine came 
eagerly to the bedside. 

“I’m going to the Yankee camp for Silverfoot,” she 
announced as calmly as if what she proposed was the 
easiest and most natural proceeding in the world. 

“ You don’t really mean it? ” gasped Caledonia, grow- 

» 

ing pale at the mere thought of such a daring deed. 

“ Yes, I do,” said Katherine. “ Charlie told us not to 
let the Yankees get Silverfoot, and they shall not keep him 
if I can help it. I shall ask the Major to give him back 
to us. He’s at the camp. I saw him riding through the 
field while Aunt Bessie was giving Sue the tea.” 

“ I hope you’ll make him ashamed of himself,” cried 
Sue. “ Oh, Katherine, it will be too splendid if you get 
Silverfoot. I wish I could go with you.” 

“ I wish you could,” said Katherine; “ but you can’t, so 
I’m going to take Uncle Nor’cross. .1 thought of him just 
as soon as I made up my mind to go.”: ; 


SILVERFOOT 


203 


Sue and Caledonia were fairly speechless with admira¬ 
tion of her. “ You mustn’t worry the least bit about me,” 
she told them as she kissed them good-bye solemnly. 
“ And don’t tell anybody that I’ve gone if you can help 
it.” 

“Just suppose-” said Sue as Katherine marched 

away with flaming cheeks and eyes bright with determina¬ 
tion. 

“ Suppose what? ” Caledonia asked anxiously as Sue 
left her sentence unfinished. “ You don’t suppose they’d 
hurt her, do you, Sue? ” 

“ I didn’t suppose it, but now you’ve gone and put it 
into my mind,” cried Sue with indignation in her voice; 
“ and I wish you hadn’t. I almost hope Grandmother will 
see Katherine and make her come back.” 

In such a preoccupied household, however, it was an easy 
matter for Katherine to slip down the back-stairs and out 
of the house unnoticed. She did not meet a single person 
who questioned her movements as she hurried away to the 
cabin where Brer Nor’cross lived. 



204 


SILVERFOOT 


It was more than likely that the old man would dis¬ 
approve of an adventure of which Grandmother did not 
know, and Katherine was prepared for argument. But, to 
her great delight, she had no sooner acquainted him with 
her purpose than Brer Nor’cross declared himself ready 
to go with her at once. He only waited to put on his 
“ preacher hat,” an ancient beaver which had formerly be¬ 
longed to his old master and which he regarded as a sign of 
authority, before he set out with her. And it was not until 
they were well upon the way that he explained to the 
little girl his reasons for such willingness to aid and abet 
her: 

“ Ingen’ly speakin’, grown folkses kin do what chillun 
can’t do, but de Lawd hez His times when chillun kin do 
whut grown folkses can’t. Hit warn’ no grown folks dat 
killed ole Goliar wid a sling-shot. Hit wuz lil’ David. 
An’ a lil’ gal no bigger’n you watched Moses in de bul¬ 
rushes. An’ I lay de Lawd is sendin’ you fer Silverfut, 
an’ me ’long wid you, ’caze Mis’ Lucy wouldn’t want you 
ter be gwme down dar by yo’se’f. Dat’s how I sees hit.” 


SILVERFOOT 


205 


Katherine felt obliged to tell him that she was by no 
means sure that her plans would turn out well. 

“ I’m a little bit afraid to go and ask,” she said. “ And 
I’m dreadfully afraid that the Major won’t let me have 
Silverfoot.” 

Brer Nor’cross waved this candid confession away 
serenely. 

“ Don’ you be ’speckin’ dat, Honey Babe,” he said, shak¬ 
ing his head till the beaver hat was endangered. “ An’ 
don’ you be skeered er miffin’. Des study ’bout Dan’l in 
de line’s den an’ dem lines not techin’ ’im. Dat’ll holp 
you up.” 

They had walked briskly as they talked and soon came 
in sight of the Federal Camp. It was a busy scene that 
greeted their eyes. Tents were being taken down, horses 
saddled, fires extinguished, knapsacks packed; all in prep¬ 
aration for departure. 

Silverfoot was nowhere to be seen, but as Katherine 
looked eagerly about her she caught sight of half a dozen 
negroes, among whom Mandy stood out prominently. 


206 


SILVERFOOT 


She had all her belongings in a bundle which she carried, 
lightly poised, upon her head, and was in a high good 
humor. 

“Howdy, Brer Nor’cross! Howdy, Miss Kate,” she 
called, smiling till every tooth in her head showed. 

The visitors attracted every one’s attention, as, guided 
by a young soldier whose assistance they had asked at the 
edge of the camp, they made their way to the Major who 
sat on a stump reading a paper which from the gravity of 
his looks evidently held news of importance. 

“ Why, it is one of my little friends from the house,” he 
exclaimed, looking up in surprise as Katherine approached 
him. “ What can I do for you, my dear? ” 

“ Please, sir, I’ve come for Silverfoot,” said Katherine 
plunging into the object of her visit at once, though she 
had planned to be very deliberate and tactful about it. 
“ He’s Charlie’s horse, and Cousin and Sue and I promised 
not to let the Yankees get him. We were the ones who 
hid him in the summer-house. We thought you hadn’t 
found it out, and this morning when he wasn’t there we 


SILVERFOOT 


207 


were dreadfully surprised and sorry; and I thought, I 
thought maybe if you knew how much we cared you’d give 
him back to us.” 

“ An’ de Lawd will bress you,” put in Brer Nor’cross 
advancing to Katherine’s side. “Hit’s in de scriptur’: 
‘ Bressed am de marciful.’ ” 

The Major, who had heard nothing of what had hap¬ 
pened on the night before, was truly puzzled by Kath¬ 
erine’s request; and all the more so because she seemed so 
sure that he was connected in some way with the disap¬ 
pearance of this horse with a fairy-tale name, that had been 
hidden in a summer-house. His first impulse was to deny 
all knowledge of the matter, and to point out gently but 
firmly that he could not delay his men to make inquiry. 
But Katherine had judged him rightly. He was a sym¬ 
pathetic man and especially fond of children. He could 
not make up his mind to send the distressed little girl away 
without at least a show of interest in what meant so much 
to her. 

“ How do you know that your horse is here, my child? ” 


208 


SILVERFOOT 


he asked, waving aside a big Irish corporal who advanced 
and saluted just then. 

“ I don’t know for certain,” said Katherine striving to 
be truthful and polite, “ but,”—a happy thought came to 
her—“ if he is here he’ll answer me if I whistle to him. 
Uncle Boss says he’s the smartest colt in the world.” 

The Major’s face broke into a smile which was instantly 
reflected in the faces of all the men who stood within hear¬ 
ing distance. 

k If he answers when you whistle you shall take him 

home. And I hope he will, my dear. I hope he will,” he 

assured her earnestlv. 

•/ 

“ So does I,” said Brer Nor’cross, who was accustomed 
to speaking his mind whenever and wherever he pleased. 
“ I hopes hit and I prays hit and Um lookin’ fer hit ter 
happen. Yassuh, dat’s whut Um lookin’ fer.” 

In her excitement and anxiety Katherine could hardly 
pucker up her lips to whistle, and the three notes, one long 
and two short, sounded very weak and wavering to her; 
but they had not died away before a joyful nicker an- 


SILVERFOOT 209 

swered them, and the black colt lifted his head above the 
throng of horses among which he had stood concealed till 
now. 

The soldiers, who had watched all that passed with great 
interest, broke into a spontaneous applause which was sup¬ 
plemented by a hearty “ Hallylooyah ” from Mandy, who 
was as pleased as anybody at Katherine’s success. 

But the most delighted spectator was the one who made 
no outward demonstration: Rhody’s Jim. At his first 
glimpse of Brer Nor’cross and Katherine he had hidden 
away, miserable and conscience-stricken. He had listened 
to the conversation between the Major and his little mis¬ 
tress with rising hope, and no sooner had Silverfoot’s neigh 
reached his ears than he acted promptly. Dropping upon 
his hands and knees, he wiggled backward through the 
bushes until he was out of sight and hearing of the camp. 
Then, springing to his feet, he fairly bounded on his 

* 

homeward way. 

“ Um gwine beat Silverfut home, Um is,” he said to him¬ 
self gleefully as he ran. 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


W HILE Katherine and Brer Nor’cross were 
pleading their cause at the camp, Sue and Cale¬ 
donia were waiting for their return in an agony 
of hope and suspense, which was all the greater because 
they had to keep it to themselves. 

“ I wish she had taken somebody else with her. Uncle 
Nor’cross is so old,” said Sue. “ If she had a chance to 
slip away with Silverfoot he wouldn’t be a bit of use.” 

“ But he can preach at the Yankees,” said Caledonia. 
“ Don’t you remember how he preached at Embrey and 
made him give back Cero’s dollar that he had stolen? ” 

“ I don’t believe Yankees would pay a bit of attention 
to preaching,” said Sue; “but if I were down there I’d 

give them a piece of my mind- Oh, Cousin, I wonder 

what Katherine is doing. She must be at the camp by 
now.” 


210 



SILVERFOOT 


211 


“ I saw a picture once of a girl who was asking a king 
to pardon her father, and she was kneeling down,” began 
Caledonia, but Sue interrupted her indignantly: 

“ I hope you don’t think Katherine is kneeling to a 
Yankee, Caledonia Carroll.” 

“ I would, to get Silverfoot back,” said Caledonia with a 
little display of spirit; “ and so would you.” 

“Well, I suppose I would for that,” admitted Sue; 
“ but, my, how I would hate to do it! I’ll tell you what 
I would adore to do, though-” 

She did not finish her sentence for just then Little Fan¬ 
nie came in to inquire after her health. 

“ Yo’ ma say how you is? ” she asked eyeing the invalid 
with solemn interest. 

“ Oh, I’m ever so much better,” said Sue in the liveliest 
manner she could assume. “ I’m well enough to get up. 
Please, Little Fannie, go and ask Mamma if I can. Beg 
her. 

“ I just know she isn’t going to let me,” she continued 
to Caledonia as Little Fannie withdrew; “ but I thought 



212 


SILVERFOOT 


I’d ask. What was I telling you before she came? Oh, 

yes, I know- If I had gone to the Yankee Camp I’d 

have marched right up to that Major and -” 

“ Yo’ ma say you lay still,” said Little Fannie reappear¬ 
ing at the door. “ She ’low she don’ want you sick on 
her han’s wid all dat’s gwine on. An’ Mis’ Lucy say she’s 
gwine come in byme-by ter tell you good-bye.” 

“ Oh, Little Fannie, have the Yankees already gone? ” 
cried Sue in dismay. 

V 

\ 

“ Dey ain’t gone yit, but dey’s gwine; an’ Mis’ Lucy’s 
aiming ter start soon ez dey does,” said Little Fannie de¬ 
lighted at the opportunity to tell all the news. “ Unk 
Boss is hitchin’ up Rock and Rye; an’ A’nt Calline’s 
wroppin’ up de lunch; an’ Mis’ Jimp’s stroppin’ de valise; 
an’ Miss Betsy Patrick’s runnin’ ’roun’ wid de camphire 
bottle; an’ Chess-Ann’s all but shoutin’ caze she’s gwine 
wid Mis’ Lucy; an’ Mis’ Gage is come, an’ w’en dey tole 
er ’bout Marse Charlie she bus’ out cryin’.” 

She stopped to take breath, and peered around the room 
as if she sensed a mystery of some kind. 




SILVERFOOT 


213 


“ Whar’s Miss Kate?” she asked suddenly. “Mis’ 
Lucy say fer her to come dar. I’se ’bout ter fergit dat.” 

“ Well, she isn’t here, and I wish you would go away,” 
said Sue in utter desperation. “ It makes me so nervous 
to hear about everybody coming and going.” 

“All right,” said Little Fannie marching off in high 
dudgeon; “but de cow’s gwine ter miss her tail in fly¬ 
time; ” which was her way of saying that Sue might wish 
for her yet. 

Her sarcasm was wasted on the girls, whose one desire 
at the moment was to hear from Katherine. 

“ Wouldn’t it be perfectly awful if she didn’t come be¬ 
fore Grandmother leaves? ” cried Sue. “ Do run and 
look out of the window, Cousin. Don’t you see her? ” 

“ No, I don’t,” reported Caledonia tearfully. “ And 
I’m going to tell Grandmother.” 

“ No, no, you mustn’t tell,” said Sue. “ Katherine said 
you mustn’t, but if she doesn’t come right away you must 
go.” 

“ Where? ” faltered Caledonia. 


214 


SILVERFOOT 


“ To find her and help her! ” cried Sue sitting up in 
bed in the great excitement. “ I’ll tell you what to do.” 

It was fortunate for poor Caledonia’s state of mind that 
another visitor, who was no other than Cousin Gage, ar¬ 
rived at this juncture to postpone Sue’s plan; though the 
sight of her was by no means a welcome one to Sue, much 
as she loved her. 

If Cousin Gage had been crying her face did not show 
it. 

“ I knew I would find you talking too much,” she said, 
smiling gaily as she advanced to the bedside; “ and that’s 
one reason I’ve come to take care of you. 4 I’ll keep her 
quiet and do the talking myself,’ I told your mother.” 

Sue gave a despairing wriggle under the quilt which her 
mother had insisted upon spreading over her, and Cousin 
Gage patted her soothingly. 

44 1 can’t begin to tell you how glad I am that I came 

« 

over this morning,” she said; 44 and it was just a happen- 
so. The Yankees have taken all my horses and I was de¬ 
termined to show them that it made no difference to me, so 


SILVERFOOT 


215 


I walked every step of the way. I hope it was a lesson 
to them, too; to see a lady forced to walk in the dust.” 

“ Oh, Cousin Gage,” said Sue, diverted in spite of her¬ 
self from her anxiety. “ I should think they would have 
been dreadfully ashamed.” 

Cousin Gage gave a little laugh. “I am afraid they 
were awfully amused, and I really can’t blame them. I 
brought Pomp along to take care of me, and you know 
how tall and black he is; and Mammy Rose followed me 
all the way to remonstrate with me, and you know how 
fat and black she is; and the dogs would come, so Thomas 
Jefferson had to come, too, and you know how little and 
black he is. We were a spectacle, sure enough. I wish 
you and Caledonia and Katherine could have seen us. 

“ By the way, where is Katherine? ” she inquired, look¬ 
ing about the room in surprise. “ Cousin Lucy was ask¬ 
ing for her and I promised to send her.” 

“ She isn’t here,” said Sue so faintly and hopelessly that 
Cousin Gage hastened to reassure her. 

“I’ll find her,” she said; “don’t you worry one bit, 


216 


SILVERFOOT 


honey. I’ll go and call her myself, and then come right 
back to you. I won’t stay a minute. 

“ Take good care of Sue, Callie,” she added as she left 
them, never dreaming with what delight they hailed her 
departure. 

“ I thought I should die if she had stayed any longer,” 
Sue declared. “ Don’t you see Katherine coming yet? ” 

“ I don’t see a thing but Rhody’s Jim running down the 
lane,” said Caledonia, leaning out of the window as far as 
she dared and looking in every direction. “ Oh, what shall 
we do? ” 

“ Send Jim to the camp,” said Sue, “ just as fast as he 
can go, and tell him not to come back until he has found 
out what’s become of Katherine and Uncle Nor’cross. 
Hurry, Cousin.” 

But before Caledonia could stir from the window Cousin 
Betsy Patrick wandered in to bring her camphor bottle to 
Sue. 

“ A gentle whiff of camphor is very invigorating, and 
I will put a few drops in water and bathe your head for 


SILVERFOOT 


217 


you,” she offered kindly. “ Or perhaps you would rather 
have rose-water. Shall I go and get some? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, if you please, Cousin Betsy Patrick. I’d 
be so much obliged,” said Sue, fervent in her gratitude. 
4 4 And would you mind shutting the door when you go 
out? 

44 There,” she said jubilantly. 44 She’s gone and you 
can go, too, Cousin, unless Katherine is coming.” 

44 1 don’t see her, but Jim is standing still in the lane and 
looking back at the woods,” reported Caledonia. 44 Do 
you suppose he sees somebody? ” 

44 How can I tell? ” asked Sue impatiently. 44 He may 
be watching crows for all I know.” 

44 But somebody is coming,” cried Caledonia; 44 and it’s 
Uncle Nor’cross. I see him; and I think Katherine is 

right behind him, and-” 

44 She’s leading Silverfoot!” screamed Sue who had 
bounded out of bed and rushed to the window at Cale¬ 
donia’s first encouraging word. 44 Hurrah! Hurrah!” 

44 Sue, Sue, what are you doing? ” asked her mother who 


i 



218 


SILVERFOOT 


came hurrying in at the sound of the girls’ excited voices. 
“ Have you children lost your senses? Where is Kath- 
erme? 

“ Coming! Coming! Coming! ” Sue answered in a kind 
of ecstatic chant. “ Oh, I am so happy I could fly! ” 

She snatched the quilt from the bed, wrapped it around 
her, and darted out of the room and down the hall, with 
Caledonia at her heels, before her mother could utter a 
protest. 

Cousin Gage, whom they met returning from her vain 
search for Katherine, set out in hot pursuit of them; 
Cousin Betsy Patrick speechless with amazement waved 
the flask of rose-water at them as they passed her; and 
Aunt Dora, whom the stir had brought to the scene, called 
after them beseechingly: 

“ Caledonia, darling, tell Mother what it is? ” 

“ They are pleased about something,” said Grand¬ 
mother, who had caught a glimpse of their happy faces. 
“ I am sure of that.” 

Curiosity or anxiety had brought the whole household 


SILVERFOOT 219 

to the gallery when Katherine and Brer Nor’cross at the 
head of a gay little procession led Silverfoot into view. 

Jim had followed them from the lane; Sue and Cale¬ 
donia had joined them at the big gate, and Cousin Gage in 
the backyard; while Uncle Boss, radiant with joy at the 
colt’s return, hobbled after them as fast as he could go. 

“ Katherine will tell you all about it, Grandmother. 
She did it and it was perfectly grand,” Sue announced as 
the whole party stopped at the gallery steps. 

But Katherine was too overwrought by her adventure 
to be a good story-teller. She could only rest, with Grand¬ 
mother’s arms around her, while Brer Nor’cross gave a 
vivid account of all that had happened. 

“ Hit wuz de Lawd what ’complished hit, Miss Lucy,” 
he ended solemnly, “ but me and Miss Kate holp Him 
moughty well.” 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


A LETTER written four years later. 

“ Twin Oaks Plantation, 
October 10 , 1868 . 


“ Dear Mother: 

“ Silverfoot won the blue ribbon over all the 
horses at the Fair to-day, and there were some fine horses 
there, too. One of them was brought all the way from 
Kentucky, but Jim says it couldn’t hold a candle to Silver- 
foot. 

“ Jim rode Silverfoot at the Horse Show and made him 
do all his tricks; and you never saw anybody so proud as 
he was when the judge put the blue ribbon on Silver foot’s 
bridle. 

“ We are having a beautiful time at Twin Oaks, and we 
are so glad that Grandmother let us invite the Major’s 
daughter to visit us. We like her better than any girl 
we’ve ever seen except each other. 

“We have taken her everywhere: to the place where 
the Haunted Cabin used to be; and to the Cave; and over 
to Cousin Gage’s to spend the day; and up on the moun¬ 
tain to see ’Bama. 

“ And what do you think? ’Bama and Bud are going 

220 


SILVERFOOT 


221 


to school at the Crossroads, and learning as fast as they 
can. 

“ Mrs. Shattuck is as pleased as she can be about it, and 
she says Mr. Shattuck is pleased, too. But he didn’t speak 
a word while we were there. He just chewed a straw. 

“ Uncle Boss took us to the mountain behind Charlie’s 
new team of mules. He feels dreadfully about driving 
mules to the carriage, and when we passed the pasture 
where old Rock and Rye stay now, he just groaned and 
grunted dreadfully. Alice thought he must be very sick, 
but Cousin and Sue and I knew what was the matter with 
him. 

“ Charlie is proud of the mules because he made the 
money to buy them himself. I can’t begin to tell you how 
hard he works. Twin Oaks is getting to be just like it 
was before the War, and it’s all because of Charlie. 
Grandmother says it is. 

“ Mammy Selie thinks Charlie is going courting; and 
so do we. Every night of the world he gets on Silverfoot 
and rides somewhere; and he always takes a bunch of 
flowers with him, too. He won’t tell us where he goes, 
but we know. Miss Leslie Barton is the prettiest girl in 
the Valley, everybody says so, and we’ve seen her wearing 
flowers just like the ones Charlie takes away with him. 

“ If he is courting her, we wish she’d hurry up and say 
‘ yes ’ so we could go to the wedding. Maybe she will ask 
Sue and Cousin and me to be bridesmaids; and Alice, too, 
if she’s here. 

“ There was a great time on the plantation when Isaac 


222 


SILVERFOOT 


and Little Fannie got married. Uncle Nor’cross married 
them and preached a regular sermon besides; and after¬ 
wards the negroes sang and danced nearly all night. 

“ You ought to have seen Candace and Chess-Ann. 
They danced for the big cake that Aunt Calline made, but 
nobody could tell which one was the better dancer, so they 
divided the cake between them. 

“ And oh, yes, Grandmother gave Isaac ten acres of 
land for a wedding present. 

“ Mammy Selie went to the wedding, but she wouldn’t 
stay for the dancing. She says she never has crossed her 
feet, and she never is going to do it. 

“ Cousin Betsy Patrick is visiting here, too. She is 
always telling us that she doesn’t believe Grandmother 
will ever get over the War; but we don’t know what she 
means. Grandmother is just as well and happy as she 
can be; and the dearest grandmother in the world. She 
doesn’t look a bit old, and we think she gets more beautiful 
every day. 

“ Mother dear, Sue has the best plan for all of us. She 
is going to write books; and she says Cousin must be a 
singer, like the ones who sing in churches; and I must be 
a teacher, because that’s what I want to be. But first we 
must go off to a fine school. Sue says she thinks we ought 
to go to Miss Baldwin’s Seminary in Virginia; and we are 
going to try to make the money to pay for it ourselves, so 
nobody need worry about that. All that our mothers and 
fathers have to do is to say that we can go. You’ll say 
that I can, won’t you? 


SILVERFOOT 


223 


“ Sue has a plan for making the money, too, but she 
hasn’t told it to Cousin and me yet. I’ll write about it in 
my next letter. 

“ Kiss Father and the boys, and make them kiss you for 
me. 

“ Your loving daughter, 

“ Katherine Beverly Carroll. 

“ P. S.—Grandmother got a letter from Mandy. 
The lady she works for, up north, wrote it for her. She 
is getting on splendidly and has finished her quilt. We 
are so glad. 

“ P. S. again.—Grandmother says she believes Aunt 
Kitty would have looked just as I do if she had lived to 
be as old as I am.” 


THE END 










































































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